An Opportune Time
by Punny GEM
Summary: The verdict is in: Daniel is no longer fit for Gate travel, and possibly not for active Earth duty, either. He's angry, and he blames Jack... sequel to Next Time and One More Time Again, but not necessary to read those first


TITLE: An Opportune Time

AUTHOR: GEM, 7-Oct-04

ARCHIVE: Yes. Jackfic

CATEGORY: H/C, whump, angst

SPOILERS: Lots, mostly from early seasons: The Other Side, Beast of Burden, Scorched Earth, Thor's Hammer, Children of the Gods, Learning Curve, the first episode with the Reetu, the episode with Reese. (Sorry, again, but I don't have access to the ep names from here)

SEQUEL INFO: Not required, but you can read "Next Time", in which the team's captor forces Jack to choose the method of Daniel's torture, and "One More Time Again", in which neither Jack nor Daniel is dealing well with the immediate aftermath.

RATING: T

WARNINGS: Some people won't like Daniel's current perspective on Jack. But, as they said in that other star-movie, "it is true, from a certain point of view."

SUMMARY: The verdict is in: Daniel is no longer fit for gate travel, and possibly not for active Earth duty either. He's angry, and he blames Jack…

DISCLAIMER: "Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. We have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. Not to be archived without permission of the author."

AN OPPORTUNE TIME

Jack frowned at Daniel's closed door. He knew his friend was in there; he'd seen the car parked outside. Ok, he could understand Daniel not wanting to talk. Torture didn't exactly compare to hockey scores or even artifact-rocks on the conversational top-10 list. But talk he would, whether he wanted to or not. He didn't stop to think how ironic it was that he, Jack, was going to force Daniel to talk about his feelings.

The base psychiatrist had handed down a virtual death sentence this afternoon: no off-world travel, ever again, and probation for keeping his job. Jack knew Daniel had issues with what had happened – who wouldn't? – but he had no idea it had come to this. Dr Levi's official report was going to say that Daniel was no longer emotionally fit for off-world travel, and that his fitness for his security clearance would be reevaluated in thirty days. They were afraid that some artifact might cause him to "act out", whatever the hell that meant, or that his judgment might be impaired and he may not keep his classified information secret. The Stargate program was too important to allow such risks.

What the hell did they expect Daniel to do if he wasn't at the SGC? He couldn't return to archaeology, his unenlightened colleagues still considered him an outcast. The US government probably wouldn't even let him be a translator for any government on the planet for fear he'd spill some of those secrets. So what was left? Daniel-the-mercenary was a bit of a stretch, unless he found a really good cause. Daniel narrating in multiple languages on a tour-bus was a depressing possibility.

He wasn't going to let it happen.

Teal'c had wrangled him a few extra days before that report was filed. The lure of an alien philosopher-warrior psyche handsomely wrapped in a muscular package had been too much for even the ice-queen Dr Levi to resist. She'd happily traded one last re-evaluation of the archaeologist for some time with Teal'c. Nothing to lose and an apartment full of Teal'c to gain.

Now Jack just had to get through to Daniel. It wouldn't be easy, especially considering that his interactions with Daniel had been … off … since their return. The easy banter and simple camaraderie felt stiff and forced. He'd taken the easy way out, ignored it and chalked it up to post-traumatic-stress, as he assumed Daniel was doing for him.

In retrospect, he should have done things Daniel's way and had one of these uncomfortable heart-to-heart talks long ago. But he still wasn't sure what he should say. Apologize for not being able to save him when he was literally dragged, screaming for Jack's help, back to that bastard Goa'uld's torture chamber? Ask him to share the details of a torture so awful that Daniel tried to commit suicide to avoid another round of it? He certainly couldn't say "I told you so" about it always being worth living; not today, with the ink barely dry on his psychiatric evaluation.

Dr Levi had warned him that Daniel seemed to be repressing his fears over the horrific events on P7X-934. He would not be easy to talk to, and Jack might be the worst person for the job. Jack had been the focus of attention upon their return, Jack had been lauded for his heroics in his attempt to protect Daniel, and Jack had returned to active duty. None of which would endear him to Daniel just now.

Dear or not, he was determined to succeed where Levi and Carter and Teal'c had failed. He'd find some way to help Daniel make what Levi would consider 'progress.' Jack sighed as another knock went unanswered. He couldn't get inside Daniel's head until he got inside the apartment. He glanced surreptitiously around, then slipped his jackknife out of his pocket. Using one of his own custom additions, he quickly picked the lock and let himself in.

The place was dark except for some flickering light coming from the back. Proof that he was here. Had a fire going. Jack sauntered along the hall to find Daniel slumped on the floor in front of the fireplace, leaning against the couch with a scotch bottle at his side, tossing scraps of paper into the fire.

Pictures.

He was burning pictures.

That was sooo un-Daniel-like. Photo albums lined one whole shelf in his den. He cherished history, even recent things like barbecues.

"Daniel?"

The man didn't look up.

"Jack." It was a sneer.

Jack came closer, levering himself down to sit on the floor next to his friend. "Burning pictures, eh?"

"How very deductive." He threw another into the flames, reached for more.

Jack put his hand over Daniel's to stop him. "Don't."

Daniel's hand curled into a fist, crushing a photo. His own picture-eyes, crinkled in what was probably a smile, looked pained instead, as if real-Daniel's fierce grip was hurting picture-Daniel. "You can't tell me what to do. We're not at work."

"I'm not ordering you. I just think you'll regret it later."

"Now you know how I feel, too."

"What?"

Daniel turned to face him, for the first time since Jack had arrived. His face was flushed, his eyes slightly unfocused. Jack automatically glanced down at the near-empty bottle, wondering how full it had been when the man started. He smirked a bit. He'd tease him about this in the morning. Or maybe he'd wait till Daniel was sober – from the looks of it, that should be some time next week.

"You don't know how I feel! You'll never understand it. All your life, you've been the jock, the strong one, the commander. No one took things from you. People like you take things from other people. From people like me!"

"Did someone take something of yours?" Jack was confused – and concerned. People like you? How could things have deteriorated to the point that Daniel considered him one of 'them' instead of one of 'us' without his realizing it?

"Someone took everything of mine!" A quick breath, almost a sob, escaped him. "My childhood, my career, my wife, my vocation! All taken away, and nothing I could do about it."

His voice turned bitter and mocking as he imitated someone else. "Sorry, Danny, but you're going back to the orphanage. Doesn't matter what you want." Another ragged breath and his voice turned husky with emotion. "That's no kind of childhood. Trying to make a home, then losing it whenever someone else decides it's time. They don't want you, and it doesn't matter what you want."

His face twisted as he mimicked again. "Sorry, Doctor Jackson, but we don't want to listen when you talk because these other archaeologists say you're wrong. It doesn't matter what you think or say."

"And then you think you've finally got it all. All wrapped up in a beautiful, loving wife. And someone just takes her! Sorry, Daniel, there was nothing you could do." He took another swig from the whiskey bottle.

"So you find something you can do. Join the SGC, look for her, try to save others in her name. You let yourself be tortured," he slammed the bottle against the floor for emphasis, "to protect your team. And what do they do? They take your life mission away. Sorry, Daniel, your not fit for this anymore!" He put his head in his hands.

Jack put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him. Daniel pushed him away, hard.

"Don't you dare! Don't pretend to understand! They didn't throw you away when you got tortured!"

Jack stared at his friend, taking in the narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, and compressed mouth. Hearing the sharp exhalations. The world spun for a dizzying moment as a new comprehension dawned.

Dr Levi had been wrong.

It wasn't fear Daniel was bottling up inside—it was anger. This wasn't the helpless, frightened, wished-he'd-stayed-a-civilian Daniel that he'd expected. This was a capable, enraged, stay-out-of-my-way-or-else combatant. Daniel had bulked up quite a bit since he'd known him, but his new physical power was nothing compared to the brute force of his fury.

He found himself automatically sizing him up as an opponent, and sternly reminded himself that this was Daniel. His friend, who needed his help and understanding.

"Why not, Jack?" Daniel leered angrily. "Because you're one of them!"

Them again. That stung more than he cared to admit. He squashed down the hurt; reminding himself that now was not the time. He could tend to his own feelings later, or more likely ignore them until they went away.

Daniel wasn't finished yet. Not by a long shot. He listed the planets where Jack had thought he was being strong, determined, righteous. Only Daniel saw it as controlling, manipulative, ignorant.

"You did it all! You! And people like you! You're no different than Apophis! 'Kill a civilization?' No problem, just ask the Enkarans and the Gadmeer. Or the Unas and any humans they try to cohabit with."

Jack leaned away, horrified at the comparison of himself to Apophis.

"'Believe my way or die?' You've done that, too, when the Eurondans didn't meet your moral standards. Ok, they sucked, but you didn't have to kill Alar like that. You could have just sent him back. Or tried to change their beliefs. Or waited until they were desperate enough to leave the planet. But, no, they didn't believe your way so you killed Alar, and all his people, and some of ours by not taking the technology they offered."

"You can't deal with people like –"

"Right!" Daniel interrupted. "People can't change." He rolled his eyes derisively. "You could have tried. And while you tried, you could have taken their technology and maybe saved some lives on Earth or other planets."

Jack's jaw dropped. Obviously, he had never thought of that.

"I know, too much trouble to think of alternatives," Daniel patronized.

"You can't be bothered, can you?"

Jack was baffled at that one, and it showed.

"Aww," Daniel mocked. "It is hard to think of us mere mortals, isn't it? How's this for an example? Teal'c could have waited at Thor's hammer for us to find a new symbiote. It would have been just a matter of time. We could have used the hammer to save hosts, to protect the planet. How many Cimmerians died because you couldn't wait?"

Jack stared silently, in shock. Was that what he really was? Blithely destroying other people's lives? Making all the decisions for them?

"Piles of nameless bodies too easy to ignore? Here's a few names for you. Charlie Kawalsky. You gave the order to kill him. Reese, who might have stopped the replicators and saved millions of Asgard lives. Oh, wait," he sneered. "The Asgard aren't human, they don't count."

Daniel paused, thinking. "How about Merrin? She wanted to go home, her people wanted her to go home, Hammond said she should go home, but you, you, decide that she shouldn't, even if it causes an interplanetary incident and loses us your precious technology to save even more lives on Earth." He switched back to the mocking tone. "Sorry, everyone, Jack has made his decision."

It didn't take him long to find the next example. "Then there was the Reetu boy. You played buddy for a while, even let him use your son's name. He begged to stay with you, but you sent him away. With the Tok'ra. How do you think he felt, Jack? To have his father-figure, the one human on the whole planet that his mother said he could trust, hand him over to people who scare the crap out of him so that they can put a snake in his head? Sorry, Charlie, Jack has made his decision."

Jack wanted to walk away. To run. Was this what Daniel really thought of him? Was he this awful person? Callously making decisions based on his own ideas alone? God, he thought he'd been doing something worthwhile with his life, not just ruining everyone else's. The faces of those people sprang to mind, the dead with their unseeing eyes, the living with their resentful ones. All of them accusing. All because of the choices he had made. For himself, his team, his world. For them. The enormity of his actions was devastating; he'd survived Charlie's death in part by dedicating himself to Good. But what he'd achieved was Evil on a massive scale.

The horror of it all rose up, threatening to overwhelm him.

Automatically, he looked to his friend, his teammate, in a desperate bid for support. And found hatred flaming back at him from the eyes of this stranger who wore Daniel's face.

"You always liked playing God, didn't you? It didn't start with the SGC and whole planets at your mercy. First came the Air Force where you could drop bombs and kill from a mile up in the sky. Then Black Ops so you could play the Devil in person. Is it a power thing, Jack? Or do you just like hurting people?"

Was that why he had chosen Black Ops? Because inside he was just as black? Seeking control over others, life and death control. Risk, power. Evil. Evil feeding off the weakness of others.

Daniel paused in his diatribe finally, to take another drink. "Someone like you never had everything taken away!"

Jack recovered the tiniest bit. That wasn't Daniel talking; it had to be the drink. In his right mind, Daniel would never say such a thing. The reproach must have shown on his face.

"You may not have anything, either, but that's because you ruined it all!"

Jack couldn't hide his shock at that statement. He cringed back, physically from the scotch bottle waving before his nose but emotionally from the sense that it wasn't over yet. Daniel was like a predator zeroing in for the kill.

"You had it all, big man! Wife, kid, career, respect. A perfect life going, there. No one took any of that from you. You did it all yourself."

He leaned over conspiratorially, an almost feral smile twisting his face. "Tell me, Jack. Did you leave the gun out for Charlie on purpose? Or was it one of those subconscious things the psych-sik-shrinks talk about?"

"No!" it was a choked, near whisper. No, he hadn't made that decision! He hadn't left the gun on purpose! Unless, inside, he was the monster that Daniel said he was…

"I hate you! People like you!" Daniel lunged at him, pummeling him with his fists. Jack rolled with it automatically, arms coming up to defend, then stopped himself. He was the lowest of low-lifes. He deserved this. And Daniel deserved it, too, a chance to strike back at one bit of the evil that had plagued his life.

Jack sagged back, opening himself to Daniel's continued onslaught, fists clenched as he struggled against the almost overwhelming urge to resist. Even drunk, Daniel had had enough experience over the years with Jack to be effective. Daniel struck him repeatedly in the head and abdomen, driving his fists into him. One particularly fierce blow and Jack recoiled reflexively onto one side, curling up in pain.

Daniel took the opportunity to lurch to his feet and kick him in the kidneys, one hand on the mantle to steady himself. Again, Jack didn't resist. Just lay there and took it. The passive acceptance enraged Daniel all the more, as if he didn't make a difference no matter what he did.

Another brutal kick rolled him all the way onto his belly, his hand falling out to the side, across the hearth and into the glowing embers beyond. Jack pulled it away with a gasp.

"So! Something that you will react to!" Daniel staggered across Jack to the fireplace, picking up the poker. Jack rolled onto his back as Daniel shoved the poker into the flames. "Something you actually feel!"

He watched, unmoving, uncaring, as Daniel lifted the poker and held it over him. He deserved this. He had destroyed the lives of everyone he loved, many of the people he knew, and a hell of a lot of people he didn't.

Daniel brandished the poker with a drunken sneer.

Jack closed his eyes. Let 'coward' be added to the litany of his faults; he didn't want to see it coming.

oOo

Daniel brandished the poker with a drunken sneer. For once, he was in control, he was making the decisions, he was going to inflict the pain instead of feel it!

Instead of fear, instead of groveling, the man, the representation of all the pain in his life, looked back at him with sorrow.

Daniel watched as the brown eyes slowly closed. The tension in Jack's face and clenched jaw radiated fear and proved that he hadn't passed out.

Why wasn't he fighting back? Or begging him not to burn him? What kind of man wouldn't choose one path or the other to escape his fate?

The kind of man who had never tried to escape any part of his fate. Who had surrendered himself to save his team countless times, even to the point of ordering them to protect the Sentinel when he had a gun literally pointed to his head. Who had surrendered his team to save a planet full of Cimmerians whom he hardly knew. The kind of man who quietly accepted an involuntary suicide mission when Thor beamed him aboard a doomed ship.

The kind of man who really was better than him. He, who had attacked his best friend in a drunken rage. He, who had gladly taken his own body back instead of sacrificing it to Machello to help fight the Goa'uld. He, who had talked his team into risking themselves in a temporarily-fatal attempt to capture Apophis and hear about Sha're. He, who always seemed to focus on himself. Maybe someone like Jack did deserve to take whatever he wanted from someone like Daniel.

Jack startled as the poker clanged to the hearth beside him. A brief, heart-stopping moment as he waited to feel the pain. Another as he realized that there was none. He opened his eyes finally to see Daniel staggering off to his bedroom. Heard the door slam.

He lay there for a long while. Thinking. Saw that the scotch bottle was miraculously still upright, leaning against the couch. Without sitting up, he grabbed it and downed a large gulp. And another. When it was finished, he just lay there, one hand still on the bottle.

oOo

Daniel walked slowly toward the kitchen, feet dragging, head pounding. Maybe some hot coffee would clear the cotton from his mouth and brain. How much had he drunk last night?

He waited interminable minutes for the coffee pot to work it's little miracle. Drank half a mug standing right there before refilling it and ambling back into the living room. The couch would be a more comfortable place to crawl back to consciousness.

There was something in front of the couch.

"Jack!" he raced over to his best friend, lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. He crashed to his knees, sloshing hot coffee over the supine man. Jack grimaced at the pain, but resisted the urge to rub at the burning area. Daniel reached out tentatively, surveying the bloody mess that lay there. "Are you ok? What happened?" Jack's expression flickered, then went blank again. Daniel tried to start a field triage, but was pushed roughly away.

Jack sat up with an effort. Staring into the now-cold fireplace, he asked the question foremost in his mind. The reason he'd stayed there all night. "Do the others feel the same way?"

"What? What are you talking about? What happ…" his voice trailed off as he started to remember. He had been burning pictures, feeling sorry for himself. Hating the world, and particularly anyone who had uncontestable control over someone else. His grandfather, the social workers, the university deans, Apophis. Even the damned psychiatrist.

Jack had stood in for them all.

Had represented, to Daniel's drunken brain and too-oft-broken heart, all the authority figures he had ever known. All of the people and aliens who had made their own decisions heedless of his one stricken soul. All those who had made him feel helpless.

"Oh, god, Jack, I'm sorry!"

Jack stared stonily into the ashes in the fireplace. "Do the others feel the same way?" he repeated.

"What? No! I don't feel that way! Jack! Jack, please don't think… I was drunk. I didn't mean it."

Jack levered himself stiffly to his feet. Headed for the door.

Daniel tried to talk him into staying, to no avail. He grabbed him at the doorway. And found himself on the floor. He was amazed at the casual ease with which it had been done; Jack hadn't even looked at him.

"Why didn't you stop me? You could have stopped me!"

"You're right," he said dully, walking out the door.

Daniel watched him leave. The defeat in his slumped shoulders, the pain in his battered body. Even in this state, the man had easily dropped him. Why hadn't he fought back last night? Jack's last words echoed in his ears. You're right. He hadn't been referring to the fact that he could have stopped Daniel. He was referring to all the terrible things Daniel had said last night. Jack believed it all. Thought he deserved what had happened.

Daniel rushed out after him, desperate to talk to him, to explain it all again, to beg forgiveness. Too late. Stiff or not, the man had made good time leaving.

It took all day and half the evening, but Daniel found him, eventually.

In one piece, thankfully. One single, living, breathing, piece. "I'm so glad you're alive!" The words were out before he thought about it. "I mean… I just… Of course you wouldn't, if you didn't…"

"If I didn't do it over Charlie?"

Ouch. Maybe it was the hangover, or the hunger, or the tiredness from searching all day, but he wasn't handling this very well. "Yeah, I mean, no. I mean…."

Jack answered the question anyway. "Because I don't deserve it."

Daniel sagged in relief. "That's right, you don't." Things were going to be ok.

"I won't do it. It's too good for me."

Daniel sucked in a breath. Oh, my god. What have I done?

"I thought about it. Started to do it, even. Felt the steel of my gun in my mouth. Cold, hard, smooth." He sounded wistful. "Slid my thumb over the trigger… It would be so easy." He was staring at nothing, hands caressing the gun with gentle longing. Daniel wondered if he could possibly take it away safely. He was still being too obvious. Jack said irritably, "I told you I wouldn't, Daniel. I don't deserve to escape."

"You do, too!"

Jack turned his head slowly, looking at him oddly. Thoughtfully. Considering.

Daniel realized with horror that he had just vowed that Jack did, indeed, deserve to die.

oOo

Carter strode into the General's office. "You asked to see me, sir? Has something happened?" She had been woken at home in the early hours of this Sunday morning by two armed MPs and driven to the base immediately.

He noted that her glance went to the Stargate, checking for clues there, and waved her to a seat. "Did Colonel O'Neill mention any plans he had for the weekend?"

Carter fidgeted, frustrated that she'd apparently have to wait for the rest of the team to hear the news. "He's with Daniel, sir."

"You're sure that's where he went?"

"Yes, sir," she said positively. The colonel had gone to Daniel's Friday night and Teal'c was having a no-doubt-lovely weekend with Dr Levi; she'd felt left out as the only member of the team without an assignment. "I can go to Daniel's and bring them both back," she offered. It would be better than sitting here in suspense until the whole team arrived. She half-rose, expecting him to confirm her suggestion.

"That won't be necessary," he said heavily. "Doctor Jackson is on the way in. There's a team at Colonel O'Neill's house now. His body was found in his backyard."

The world spun, and she collapsed back into her chair. "Oh, God." She took a couple of breaths to steady herself. "Do they know what happened?"

"Gunshot to the head at point-blank range." Hammond could hardly get the words out. He steeled himself to give her the rest of the details. "He was beaten first. They think that happened somewhere else, as there's no evidence of a struggle at his house. Then he was taken home and made to kneel before…" There was no need to finish, even if he could.

A few moments passed, the silence growing as their ragged breathing slowly died to shivery sighs, then to a stillness empty of more than mere sound.

Hammond finally spoke. "This may be some kind of message, or warning. If you think you know anything, come straight to me. And either way, I want the rest of SG-1 to stay on base for the time being."

"Yes, sir." It was a bare whisper. She levered herself out of her chair and walked blindly out of the room.

oOo

Hammond walked somberly toward the infirmary, eager for information yet dreading what he might hear. Dr Jackson had been found, alive but inebriated. With contusions on his knuckles that spoke of a fistfight. And Colonel O'Neill's blood on his hearth.

He could only presume that the assailants had begun at Jackson's apartment. That both men had fought, and lost. Getting Jackson drunk may have been merely a means of buying enough time to execute the colonel without getting caught in the deed.

Hammond caught a glimpse of Jackson, shirtless, as the doctor came out of the room. With the white bandages across his knuckles, he looked like a boxer. Before the event; his otherwise unscathed body had clearly not been in a fight.

The doctor nodded permission to Carter to go in before she turned to Hammond.

"General," she acknowledged. "Other than contusions on his knuckles and general drunkenness, he's fine."

"Are you sure?"

She confirmed what his disbelieving eyes had seen.

He thanked her, and she went on her way. Hammond paused at the doorway, listening for a moment to Carter and Jackson. Not the most professional thing to do, but Jackson was more likely to open up with Carter than with him.

"…know how cold he can be when he clams up. I… I was trying to make him feel something. I said some terrible things…"

Hammond could see Carter deflate a bit, thinking, as he did, that Daniel was going to forever regret that being his last encounter with his best friend.

"He didn't react enough, so I hit him," Daniel continued miserably. "I hit him, Sam!" He waved the white-bandaged hands for emphasis. "I hit him, and he let me. He didn't even try to fight back."

Hammond understood now why Daniel was basically uninjured. But it raised an awful spectre: If Jack had been upset enough to let himself be beaten, had he then committed suicide? If he had decided to end his own life, it would be in character for him to do it outside, with the stars as his last sight. But what on Earth could Daniel have said to him to bring him to that point?

"Then what happened?" Carter asked gently.

"He left. I went after him." Sad, bleary blue eyes met hers as if seeking forgiveness. "I meant to apologize, but we got into another fight…"

Hammond was distracted as another MP brought him a report. He accepted it without a glance and stepped into the room. The MP trailed behind, as if waiting for a response to the message he'd brought. They were just in time to hear Carter tell Daniel that Jack was dead.

Daniel slumped, staring blindly forward. "He said he wouldn't…"

"… so you did it for him." the MP finished quietly.

Daniel dropped his head into his hands and wept, beyond the capability of words for the moment.

He was, but Hammond wasn't.

"What are you trying to say?" he demanded, rounding on the MP.

"Sometimes it's easier for the perpetrator to confess if they just have to confirm what they've done, sir."

"Daniel hasn't perpetrated anything," Carter objected.

"With all due respect, ma'am, it appears that he has." He indicated the folder that Hammond had not yet opened. "There are new details in there, sir. Based on that, I strongly suggest that you hand-pick Dr Jackson's security detail. I can assist with recommendations if you like."

"Based on what, exactly?" Hammond demanded, perhaps a bit more roughly than he should have. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Finding out Jack was dead was bad enough. Thinking he'd been executed by parties unknown was worse. He was still reeling from the idea that Jack had committed suicide.

None of it compared to the icy hollow forming in his belly at what the MP was implying.

The MP straightened, half-closing his eyes as he recited the details. "Neighbors reported a single gunshot at approximately zero-two-thirty this morning. Local police responded immediately, finding Colonel O'Neill in his backyard with a bullet to the face at point-blank range. No other persons were found on or near the premises. As the victim was clearly deceased and as the initial report indicated that the victim was likely to be a colonel in the Air Force, the local police secured the murder weapon but took no further action pending the arrival of an Air Force team."

He paused, opening his eyes fully to look straight at the General. "It's a damn good thing they did, sir," he said bitterly. "Our boys turned the body over. They had just enough time to see the colonel's hands wired around an object before they heard the grenade pin –"

"Any injuries?" Hammond interrupted.

"Minor, sir. They were very fortunate. If the locals had turned him over, or if one of our men hadn't had a recent tour in Iraq…" he shook his head. "They're lucky they recognized the sound in time. They had only seconds before it detonated."

Hammond sighed quietly. "Finish your report, son."

"The body is mostly gone. Remaining hard evidence includes Dr Jackson's admission of beating the deceased, following him when he attempted to escape, and then arguing with him a second time. We also have Dr Jackson's fingerprints on the murder weapon."

He took a deep breath. "Circumstantial evidence, the fact that the Colonel was made to assume a begging position, on his knees with a live grenade wired into his hands, supports the perpetrator acting in anger. The perpetrator's access to a grenade and the inexperience in using it for terrorist purposes fit Dr Jackson's profile."

"That doesn't make any sense," Carter defended. "Why use a grenade and a gun?"

The MP turned back to her somberly. "Murder never makes sense to me, ma'am, but if I had to guess, I'd say that Doc—the perpetrator forced the Colonel to choose between them."

She swallowed at the image; no one should die that way.

He took advantage of the pause, returning his attention to the General. "Given that all the evidence points to Dr Jackson killing Colonel O'Neill in a fit of rage, and adding to that the near-death of the investigating MPs as well as the Colonel's general popularity on base, I repeat my suggestion that you hand-pick a security detail to reduce the likelihood of retaliation. Sir."

oOo

Teal'c heard Samantha Carter pacing behind him but did not remove his intense gaze from the tiny object he'd been watching. And would continue to watch. He may not understand the tests they were running, but he could ensure there would be no 'accidents' nor exchanging of samples. There was no one in the galaxy he would trust with this.

The machine currently holding the crucial article beeped cheerfully and the two white-coated medical officers before him practically dove for it. The doctors took turns peering at the display, then exchanged a look.

The sight did not reassure him in the least.

Dr Fraiser turned reluctant eyes to the anxiously awaiting pair. She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry."

"You are certain?" He was compelled to ask the question, even as he felt his last hope fading.

She compressed her lips and nodded. "They're his teeth." She gestured vaguely to the crimson and white bit garishly exposed on the table before them. "Dental work on the teeth we recovered matches Colonel O'Neill's exactly. This preliminary DNA test confirms the identification. We can wait a couple of days for the more thorough DNA screening, but…"

He stopped listening. The clinical details didn't matter anymore. His eyes were drawn to the plastic bag in which the remains had arrived.

Until the doctors' proclamation of identity, Teal'c had refused to truly consider that it was O'Neill in there. The bag was horrifically small, not even close to the size of a child's body. The contents didn't even look like a body anymore, just a red mass with bits of white bone bizarrely protruding from it. The two-and-a-half teeth they'd found with the x-ray machine were the only part remotely recognizable as human. He had watched them carve the teeth out of the rest of the mass, and supervised their handling of the tiny bits of ivory, never permitting them to leave his sight. He knew they'd come from that bag. And now he knew they'd come from O'Neill.

Carter followed his gaze, a sob escaping her when she looked upon the pitiable little bag.

Teal'c put his arm around her and she turned to him, crying openly now as she had done only once before.

The doctors had the grace to leave them alone to begin mourning their fallen friend and leader. The cold, antiseptic silence of the lab was a reflection of a world suddenly just as bitter and lifeless.

oOo

"Daniel… please…"

Daniel startled awake at the voice. Remembering the field-training Jack had drilled into him, he kept quiet, listening for the enemy as he rolled warily out of his sleeping bag…

And thumped onto the floor beside his cot.

He shook his head groggily. He had been in a bed, not in the field. So why was Jack calling to him? He sounded so upset. In pain.

"Jack?"

A head appeared in a window and he jerked aside reflexively before remembering.

Jack was dead. Gone. Blown into so many pieces that even a sarcophagus couldn't reassemble them.

He raised one hand at the MP, hoping he'd take the hint and stay outside the room, and crawled miserably back onto the cot. God, he hated having those guys at the door! Hammond didn't have any choice but to lock him up during the investigation, he reminded himself. He'd locked Jack up, too, when the Colonel was suspected of killing Kinsey.

At least Jack could honestly say he hadn't done it.

oOo

He raised one hand at the MP, hoping he'd take the hint and stay outside the room, and crawled miserably back onto the cot. God, he hated having those guys at the door! Hammond didn't have any choice but to lock him up during the investigation, he reminded himself. He'd locked Jack up, too, when the Colonel was suspected of killing Kinsey.

At least Jack could honestly say he hadn't done it.

Daniel rolled over, facing away from the door, and tried again to remember. He had followed Jack, hoping to keep him safe, wanting to apologize. But Jack kept twisting his words, like when Jack said he didn't deserve to die and made Daniel say he did so deserve it. Daniel had been so tired and hung over, it was hard to focus. Jack had been bitter and depressed and hurt. No wonder they had ended up arguing again. He remembered the verbal sparring, soon spiced with uncharacteristic profanity.

The last thing he knew for sure was that he had cursed "Dammit, Jack!" and swung his fist in anger. All he could remember after that was feeling a sudden and overwhelming surge of fury.

Just thinking about it made him tremble with echoes of the intense rage. He clenched the bed frame in a death grip as he tried to resist the urge to hit something. His reaction frightened him; if it was still this strong now, how much more intense had it been that night? God! He wanted -- needed -- to remember. But he couldn't. They told him he was blocking it all out, and encouraged him to get past it, but no one could tell him exactly how to do that.

He was still lying there when he heard the door open. Resentfully, he rolled gracelessly over the rail he still held, going face-first over the pillow for the chance to wipe his eyes on it, and stood up.

His rush of hope at seeing Sam faded quickly as he took in her expression.

She smiled wanly at him, offering one of the mugs she carried.

He accepted it, his gaze dropping to the contents so he wouldn't have to look at her. He wouldn't be able to bear seeing the same doubt in her eyes as he saw in everyone else's. He drank a bit, hardly tasting it but grateful for the warmth.

"Is there any news?" he asked hesitantly. He wanted desperately for her to tell him that it was all a hideous mistake. That someone other than he had done it, and that someone other than Jack was the victim. "Any new evidence?"

She scuffed her foot along the floor. "The Colonel's blood in the trunk of your car."

He closed his eyes, a shivery sigh escaping him.

"And the full DNA test is back," she said with quiet finality. "It was him."

The mug fell from Daniel's suddenly nerveless fingers. The crash of it breaking on the concrete floor was instantly followed by the crash of the door as the guard rushed in.

"Against the wall! Now!" he shouted, taking one swift glance around the room before fixating on his prisoner. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

Daniel just stared, too stunned by Sam's revelation to really hear the man's words. He'd known it was likely, but still, to hear her make it official…

"At ease!" Sam ordered, stepping between them.

"Negative, ma'am." He didn't take his eyes off Daniel as he spoke, moving to one side to maintain his view. "There are sharp objects within arm's reach. He'll have to be secured until it's cleared."

"It was an accident," Sam began.

"It's ok. He's just doing his job," Daniel slowly moved toward the wall. He reached out one hand to squeeze Sam's shoulder reassuringly, stopping as the guard warned him away from her. Both hands raised, he stepped to one side and leaned heavily against the wall.

The guard came up behind him, frisking him thoroughly in search of pieces of coffee mug.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, ma'am. Protocol. And as much for his safety as for yours."

Daniel leaned silently against the wall, head hanging, as the broken mug was cleaned up and taken away. They reassembled the pieces as further insurance that he had none stashed in his cell before allowing him the relative freedom of the tiny room. Sam stayed a while after, but neither could find much to say.

She hesitated near the door. "We're not giving up," she reassured him.

"Maybe you should."

He saw her actually stagger with the shock of the statement. "Did…did you remember something?"

oOo

He wasn't supposed to hear, but he did.

Teal'c told the guard outside the door that with the latest evidence had come threats against Daniel's safety. The blood in the car made it a virtual certainty that Daniel had killed Jack, and in a way not only horrific in itself but potentially lethal to whatever innocent bystander found the body.

Daniel's knees shook as he realized that he had very few friends left on the planet. He wasn't foolish enough to think Hammond could protect him indefinitely. There would come a time, and soon, when the General would have to act. Lock him up or set him free. Right now, it looked like the only decision left was padded walls or metal bars.

A scraping along the other side of the door brought his attention back to Teal'c. Who was telling the guard in no uncertain terms that there would be serious personal ramifications should he fail in his duty to protect his charge.

The guard straightened, but still had to look up at the bigger man. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded.

Teal'c stood toe-to-toe with him and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

"General Hammond will be informed of this!"

Teal'c inclined his head slightly. "As you wish. However, while that may delay matters, it will not change the ultimate outcome." He turned and strode away without looking back.

oOo

Carter fiddled absently with the alien device, trying to make herself concentrate on it, on anything other than the Colonel and Daniel. It had been days now. The memorial for the Colonel had been hell to endure, but it did provide some closure. The General was continuing a painstaking investigation, more out of loyalty than anything else since there was still no evidence to exonerate Daniel. She was beginning to wonder if it was a mistake to continue. Daniel's behavior was becoming progressively more erratic; nothing drastic, but more and more oddities. Maybe the stress was just too much on him. On them all.

She realized abruptly that she was no longer alone and looked up to find Teal'c standing in her doorway.

"Major Carter."

"Teal'c. What's up?" She stood automatically, coming around the desk to talk to him.

He took a half-step toward her. "I am quite distressed by the situation regarding O'Neill and Daniel Jackson." He paused. "I believe I need a hug."

She hoped she hid her surprise in time. "Oh, of course." She stepped close and hugged him.

He turned his head down into the hair at her neck, cupping one hand around the back of her head and putting the other arm around her.

She bowed her head and accepted his return embrace. How could she have been so blind? When Daniel ascended, she had wanted her teammates to see her pain, to help her deal with it. And now, when Teal'c needed her to see his pain, she had missed it entirely, assuming he would handle things in his usual stoic manner.

"I must speak with you in privacy, Major Carter," he whispered in her ear. "We must find a place to talk where we cannot be overheard."

The hand on the back of her head held rigidly enough to cover her surprised movement. "Understood," she murmured back, caught by surprise for the second time by not realizing that the hug was a ploy.

She pulled away from him slightly, keeping one hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Teal'c, I didn't realize how bad you were feeling." She paused, pretending to think. "There's a place I go to think sometimes, when things are tough. Do you want to come there with me?"

He bowed his head in agreement.

She led him outside, to a trail up the mountainside. She would have enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine more if it didn't point out that she and Teal'c were no longer confined inside the walls of the base. Hammond had lifted the safety precaution, which subtly implied that the only threat was sitting in his bare little cell on level 23.

They walked in silence until they came to a small waterfall. She sat close to it, heedless of the wet rocks or the spray that soaked her left side. He sat close beside her, shoulders touching.

"This is the place, Teal'c," she said quietly. "No one can hear us here. No one around for... well, hundreds of yards, anyway. Even if someone tried to bug this spot, it would be tough with the sound of the waterfall as interference."

He began with inspiring words of honor and vengeance. Continued with a recap of events, delivered with more wrought emotion than she'd ever seen from him before. And finished with a plan of righteous action.

She recoiled, edging away from him till she balanced precariously on the edge of the rock, one foot in the icy water to stabilize her.

"No! We can't do that to Daniel!"

oOo

Daniel was lying in his bunk again, facing away from the door and trying to remember, when the door opened behind him. He sighed. It shouldn't be time yet for another visit to Dr Levi, or to refuse his next meal. He rolled onto his belly then to his feet on the far side of the bed to see which of the few people who still visited him had come this time.

Recognition turned to concern as he saw what they were holding. He stiffened, eyes on their hands. "What are those for?" He tried to sound merely curious.

The inane question was not answered; they had only one use.

He backed away as the pair advanced. Swallowing nervously, he glanced past them to the door, for the first time hoping to see the guard. No one was there; he was alone with these false-friends turned foe.

"No…" It was a hoarse whisper, forced out through a suddenly dry throat.

oOo

Daniel closed his eyes, reciting his silent mantra. It's only for a while. Only till we find out who's behind this. Sam and Teal'c will protect me. Dr Levi won't give me real drugs. It's only for a while… Knowing it didn't stop his heart from racing, or keep the sweat from pouring down his back. Or keep him from wondering why it was happening like this.

He was supposed to do it voluntarily, with Sam and Teal'c at his side, and Dr Levi paving the way. Not alone and trussed up like a dangerous animal. He'd been led out like a dog in chains, handed over to these strangers by a pair of Dr Levi's own staff. He squelched the frightening thought that the plan had been a ruse, a way to commit him with minimal fuss.

The truck stopped, then backed up a bit. They must be there. At the psychiatric hospital. The back entrance, where it was more 'discreet.'

The door opened. Time to go. The orderly helped him out. Had to, since his wrists were bound in handcuffs.

He hadn't known they would do that, they hadn't last time. But this time was different. This time he was presumed to be a sadistic killer.

"Psycho-killer, test today." The words of the song rang in his head. He knew they were really "Psycho killer, qu'est que c'est", but he'd had a college friend who sang it as 'test today' on exam days. And today was definitely a test. Way bigger than that measly little six hour oral exam he'd had to pass to earn his PhD.

He took a deep breath, glancing up at the sky for what might be the last time for a while. It didn't even have the decency to be blue. His last look was at ominous grey clouds pushing angrily past an equally foreboding grey building.

He dropped his gaze to find the orderlies watching him warily, as if he might be preparing to try something. The next line of the song promptly played in his mind:

"Better run, run, run! Run, run, run awaaaaaay!"

He tried to push the song out of his mind. There would be no running. Someone was trying to drive him insane. Literally. The same someone who had killed Jack. Well, they weren't going to get away with either. He'd play their ugly little game, for a while. If they came for him in the hospital, Sam and Teal'c would get them. And if they didn't, Dr Levi would get him out. At least, he hoped she could; if he kept seeing and hearing things that no one else did, and they didn't find a reason for it, there was a risk that this would become his permanent home. He'd been leery of Levi's participation at first, but her control over his hospital stay made her a crucial player. Teal'c trusted her, and that was enough for him. The big man had become even more important to him now; he had believed immediately and unconditionally when Daniel hesitantly admitted to hearing voices. And he hadn't wavered when other…things…seemed to happen. The kind of things that got him sent back here.

He wished Teal'c were with him now. The plan had been that Teal'c and Sam would bring him here, not these three unknown men in white suits.

He licked his lips and swallowed, then ducked his head a bit to show submission to the orderlies. One took hold of his elbow and led him inside.

He waited quietly as they signed him in past the first desk, and on the ride to the fifth floor.

When the elevator doors opened on that all-white antiseptic-smelling landscape, he almost panicked. He froze, suddenly breathless, eyes wide, staring at a place out of his nightmares. Oh, no. No, he couldn't…

The orderlies were wary again. "Easy, there, Daniel. Everything's ok. Just take a minute. Everything's fine." Despite the soothing words, they were ranging themselves around him, ready to pin him. To hold him down, like before, to stab him with needles, to –

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Only for a while, only for a while.

When he opened his eyes, they were still staring at him, still ready to attack.

He bowed his head in defeat. And, if he were honest, in fear of what they could do to him. There were three of them, and he was handcuffed. In other words, at their mercy. And there'd be precious little mercy if he resisted them.

He shuffled obediently forward, moving as slowly as he thought he could get away with. Out of the elevator. Down the hall. He focussed on his breathing, as Jack had taught him once. He tried not to look at where he was, not to think about it. Breathe, walk, breathe, walk, breathe…

It seemed to appear suddenly, right in front of him. The Room. The soft, white, windowless, featureless box where he'd be entombed.

No! He couldn't do this! He had to get out of here! Now!

He couldn't help it. He panicked.

He slammed his cuffed hands into the nearest orderly and bolted down the hall. Skidded around a corner and ran on, angry shouts following him. Emergency Exit! He leapt for the door, safety only inches away.

It was locked.

He was cornered. Three orderlies faced him, half-crouched like football players preparing to tackle.

He feinted to the left, then lunged right as the orderlies went for him. They grabbed, he scrabbled away. Two cajoled him with phony friendliness as the third circled around behind. It didn't take long for them to corner him again. They were prepared for such things. They simply stalked him around the square formed by the four halls of the ward. No doors opened to his questing hand, no obstacles or weapons were to be found in the scrupulously empty corridors. It was just a matter of time.

He fought anyway, unable to bear the thought of that room. He kicked and punched in his best Jack imitation, even trying to strangle one of the orderlies with the chain linking his wrists. He would not, could not, go back there.

They won, of course. Took their retribution in several well-hidden knees to the groin and kidneys before delivering him to his new abode. In a straightjacket.

A real-live, honest-to-goodness straightjacket.

He thought he knew panic before, but this… this was unbearable. The ghosts of his last incarceration there rushed back at him and he was helpless, totally helpless against them. The dead aliens, the pitying friends, the emotionless doctors, the rule-enforcing orderlies, the sheer horror of knowing that he was going insane… The logical part of his mind recognized them for what they were, just memories of the past horror, but the adrenalin-filled emotional side demanded some bit of defense ability. He had to be able to move! Just let him move around, even in his little box, and he could calm down. Being totally defenseless like this was intolerable. He struggled against the straightjacket, desperate to have his arms free. He yelled and rubbed against the wall, trying to slide out of the jacket.

They came again.

Not memories, these. Real men in white. With needles.

He backed away from them and from the memories, tried to go to his safe corner, the tiny alcove he'd sheltered in last time.

"No! No, don't!"

They ignored his pleas, flipping him easily down to the floor. He squirmed under their weight.

The orderly, the one he'd choked earlier, gleefully held the needle before his face.

"Don't! Please! Don't!"

The orderly flipped the safety cover off with his thumb.

"No, no, don't!"

He squirted a bit out, letting some of it fall on Daniel's sweaty cheek.

"Please! Please, I'm holding still now. I'm calm! Don't do it! Don't!"

The needle moved slowly downwards. The orderly's grin widened.

"Please! You don't need to –"

He felt the jab in his thigh, and then there was nothing.

Except the memories.

oOo

The tires squealed as Carter zipped into the parking lot. Teal'c was out almost before the car stopped, and the women were not far behind. They strode into the building.

"They're with me," Dr Levi flashed her badge to the attendant at the desk. Teal'c and Carter didn't even slow down until they were in the elevator.

"We were supposed to bring him ourselves!" She couldn't contain her outrage any longer.

"I know, but I can't do anything about that now," Dr Levi pointed out. "Let's focus on going forward, ok?"

The elevator doors opened and Carter stormed out, not bothering to answer. Levi and Teal'c followed. Levi went to the desk to check Daniel's chart while Carter and Teal'c went to see Daniel.

He was asleep, lying on his back near the little alcove in the corner, wearing the soft white harmless hospital scrubs.

"They drugged him!" Carter spat.

"He tried to escape," Dr Levi said quietly from the doorway, file in hand. "The chart says he grew agitated as he approached his room, then bolted. They cornered him and he fought. He choked an orderly with his handcuffs. They had no choice but to sedate him."

"He was to be kept in a standard room, with furniture and a window," Teal'c pointed out.

"Another error," Levi told him. "Somehow, his prior record was sent up. They looked at it and gave him the same kind of room. Seeing this is probably what set him off in the first place." She bit her lip, hesitant to tell them the rest. "Given his attack on the orderly on top of his commitment based on a murder, it may be a while before I can get him out of here and into a regular room."

Carter looked away, not wanting them to see her tear up. If they had been there for him, none of this would have happened. He'd had to face it alone, all over again.

oOo

Daniel woke slowly, not sure where he was at first. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, sitting up abruptly when the plastic medical bracelet on his wrist scratched his nose and brought events roaring back. He looked around, automatically scooting backward into his alcove for comfort. He hugged himself, feeling the odd texture of his shirt.

Someone had changed his clothes while he was unconscious. The thought of it made his stomach churn, that someone had been touching him while he was helpless. He looked around again, not that anything had changed or ever would in this empty white expanse, and realized that he was still helpless even now. Sure, he was conscious, and rational. But the only control left to him now was whether to do what he was told willingly or by force. They'd taken everything but life itself from him. Again.

But hadn't he just done the same to Jack?

During the za'tarc fiasco, Jack had admitted that he cared more than he should about Carter. Afterwards, he had called a private meeting at his house and admitted his militarily-fatal secret to all three of his teammates: he cared way more about his team than a field leader was supposed to. He could not have left Carter, or any of them, behind, even if death was certain and imminent. By military rules, he should be removed from the team and disciplined for his failure in judgement. A field commander had to be detached enough to order his own teammate to their death if need be, leave a certain casualty behind to save someone with a chance, and objectively use his subordinates as tools for the greater good. By not leaving Carter behind when her death seemed inevitable, he'd proven his failure in one area already. He'd hesitantly called them family and put his secret, and his future on the team, in their hands.

Family. Daniel had lost a lot, but then so had Jack. Jack's first family, his parents and grandparents, had passed on. His second family of army buddies had been dutifully kept at arm's length, and even so, most of those 'second cousins' were long lost now.

Imprisonment and torture in Iraq taught Jack to avoid even the most trivial of relationships, because they only encourage more pain. Emotional attachment was quickly and freely used against them by their captors.

Sara and Charlie coaxed him to trust and to love again, promising permanence. They were to be the family that outlived him, the ones he could rely on to always be there. Until Charlie was cruelly taken from him.

A suicidal Jack tentatively decided to live during the Abydos mission. Even took the next step back toward his prior life as he defended his unauthorized survival to a General not happy to see him return... Only to find that he had lost his last chance with Sara.

Jack lived on, but kept himself aloof; an unused heart neither causes nor feels pain.

When the Stargate reopened, Jack took easily to the new reason to live, but the team was an odd melange. Sam had a huge chip on her shoulder, but then again she was basically forced on Jack. Daniel himself was just a geek to be tolerated for his knowledge. Teal'c was hardly the cuddly type, especially early on. Looking back, Daniel could almost imagine Jack picking them as least "likely to get cozy or emotional with their CO." And, he now realized, Jack tried to ensure they kept their distance by making everything a joke -- no one would risk baring their feelings to someone who is likely to laugh about it.

Despite it all, they had become his newest, and probably last, family. Jack had admitted that he couldn't bear to lose any one of them.

Daniel had taken that from him, made Jack face the one thing that he had ever said was unendurable. He'd taken himself, his friendship, away in the most brutal way. He didn't mean the beating part; Jack had endured far worse physically.

Few people in the galaxy could search out and destroy Jack's heart the way Daniel had.

oOo

Jack looked up when the doors opened, but he didn't bother to stand. He was thoroughly secured, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. There were fiberglass cuffs on his wrists, with a rope from them looping over a beam in the ceiling then down to be tied to a pipe on the wall. Another pair of cuffs on his ankles, with another rope to a pipe on the other side of the room. Something heavier than cuffs around his neck, with its own rope over the beam and to a third pipe.

Three men all in white, including ski masks and gloves, entered, one carrying a newspaper.

He thanked them for covering up their undoubtedly ugly faces.

"Pretty chipper for a dead guy," one of the men commented.

"Not dead yet," Jack quipped. They'd had their chance; he'd be dead already if that's what they wanted.

"Actually, you are." The one with the paper handed it to Jack.

He took it, holding it awkwardly since the fiberglass cuffs only allowed a few inches between his hands. It was folded open to a picture of Sam and Teal'c at a military funeral, with dozens of other familiar faces behind them. The caption read "Murdered officer lain to rest." The men waited while he read the article. It explained that Colonel Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill had been murdered, allegedly by an unnamed man he worked closely with at Cheyenne Mountain.

"Daniel," he murmured. The archaeologist was conspicuously absent from the photo.

The man took the paper back, shaking his head. "Tragic, isn't it? Messy, too, I heard."

Jack eyed him suspiciously, but refused to ask the question.

It was answered anyway. "Wired a grenade into your hands," he informed his prisoner cheerfully. "Not much left of you but pudding. And those teeth you so generously donated."

Jack shuddered involuntarily at the memory. They had drugged Daniel, but not him. Just held him down as they cut out a few of his back teeth along with part of the bone connecting them.

The man in white waited, letting him have time to remember the events in detail, then noisily refolded the paper to regain his attention.

Jack mentally christened him the Paper-boy to distinguish him from the other two.

"Your so-called buddy went postal, they had to lock him up."

They had it all set up, might as well cut to the chase. "I can't tell you anything, even to get Daniel out of jail." He'd have to rely on Carter and Teal'c for that. In the meantime, Daniel had toughened up a lot in the past few years, he'd hold his own in prison. For a while at least.

"Oh, he's not in jail," the Paper-boy told him innocently. "He's in the psycho ward. You know, rubber wallpaper and all." He chuckled. "I hear he's been there before."

Crap, that would be tougher on Daniel than jail would. "Still can't tell you anything," he affirmed with perhaps a tad less certainty.

"Funny," the paper-boy said, "I don't remember asking you anything." He looked at his cohorts. "Did you boys ask any questions?"

They both shook their heads.

The Paper-boy turned back to Jack. "Nope, no questions." He paused. "If you do decide to talk, we may decide to listen. Or not." He shrugged.

Jack was carefully silent, not sure what was going on if they weren't after intel.

"You've made some enemies, Puddin.'" His otherwise silent cohorts snickered at the grenade-inspired nickname. "It wasn't enough just to get you and your friend out of the way; they want to see you suffer." Again, he waited to let the full impact of his words sink in.

Jack felt himself shaking with a new rush of adrenaline and fear. There was no bargaining chip; no intel he could fake or promise, no ransom being gathered, nothing. All they wanted now was to see him suffer. Them suffer. Each in his own specially-tailored Hell. While he was enjoying a long and excruciating death, Daniel would slowly rot away in an asylum for killing his best friend.

He was almost grateful to the Paper-boy for distracting him from his own thoughts.

"Stand up."

Yeah, right! Stand up to get knocked down? Don't think so. Jack remained on the floor, waiting to see what they would do.

The Paper-boy chuckled. "I like you, Puddin.' I'm going to let you have some input. Stay down if you want us to start below the belt, stand up if you'd prefer we take it from the top."

Ok, that was incentive. Jack struggled to his feet, staring defiantly at the Paper-boy. They pulled the wrist-rope taught, forcing his arms above his head. The ankle one was tightened, too, so that he balanced precariously at an angle.

"Remove his shirt."

One of the other men stepped forward, taking a switchblade knife from his pocket and clicking it open in front of Jack's eyes. Having no real choice in the matter, Jack stood still as his shirt was cut away.

The Paper-boy circled Jack slowly, admiring his bruises. "Looks like your friend packs quite a punch." He came all the way around to stand in front of Jack again. "But my friends can do better."

He stepped back. "Go to work, boys."

The Paper-boy nonchalantly read the news in the corner while his silent colleagues did their job.

oOo

And then they were rescued. The bad guys were punished, the good guys made up, and SG-1 lived happily ever after, going through the Stargate to fight overconfident, overdressed enemies who at least had the guts to declare themselves enemies.

The end.

Except it wasn't.

The sound of heavy feet tramping through the door woke him from his pleasant dream and returned him to his nightmare reality. He watched with trepidation as they approached, wondering what wonderful selections the Paper-boy would offer him today.

Amused by that first time, the Paper-boy had continued to give him choices, and he had learned to play along.

Oh, he'd tried to refuse.

Once.

They'd demonstrated both options, and then asked him again to choose. The cycle repeated over and over as he refused with defiant sarcasm, then angry profanity, and finally desperate silence. He escaped into blissful unconsciousness for a moment, but the haven was fleeting; they simply woke him with smelling salts. After which they decided his left nostril not only made a handy holster for the tiny tube but provided a continual dose to keep him conscious.

He tried to wait it out, pleading silently for his body to give way to the un-wakable sleep of the injured, knowing that they would just switch to some new form of abuse if he made a decision. But they were skilled at their job, practiced at just how to keep things going. Ultimately, he made a choice just to see if it would really make a difference. They gave him his preference, as thoroughly as every other time, then stopped.

Sick with the knowledge that they had won, he watched them casually saunter out, their work done for the moment. The smelling salts, still in his nostril, ensured that he stayed miserably awake and had plenty of time to think about what had happened. And what might happen Next Time.

Next Time, he had tried it their way. Made decisions when asked, and dealt with the consequences as best he could. They'd taken their time, reminding him that he now lived expressly to suffer, but it was still nothing like that first marathon. When they left, he'd felt relief, gratitude, and self-loathing. He knew, knew, what they were doing; making him trade his spirit in bits to save his body. But he just couldn't bring himself to undertake another futile marathon. Not that time. Or the next. Or the next.

This time, the Paper-boy was carrying a depressingly-familiar weapon.

Food.

Sort of.

The Paper-boy never told him what was in the thick, gray-brown liquid. He just laughed and promised it was going in one way or another. It was easy enough to decide that the one known way had to be better than whatever 'another' would prove to be. Dying of starvation was unfortunately not given to him as an option; they'd cheerfully assured him that he still had a long life ahead.

"One way or another, Puddin'?" the Paper-boy smirked, raising a blender-sized carafe.

Eyes downcast in humiliation, Jack tilted his head back and opened his mouth. They laughed at him, and he was tempted to resist, but that would only get him extra servings.

It was thick, slimy, and generally foul. The exposed nerve endings around the place where the missing portion of his jawbone used to be flared with agony as it crept across them with excruciating slowness. He fought to breathe, to keep swallowing, as the nauseating fluid continued to ooze into his mouth. He knew from unfortunate experience that if he were to cough or vomit, they'd start over. With a full pitcher.

"That's it, Puddin,'" the Paper-boy mock-encouraged. "Have a good breakfast. You have a long day ahead."

oOo

Daniel blinked blearily. Had his door opened? He heard more than saw movement. "Who's –"

He was instantly pinned to the floor, his mouth covered. Figures in white, nearly invisible in the dimly-lit white room, quickly bound him into a straightjacket. Something was held to his mouth until he inhaled. It didn't feel like it did anything, but as he recovered from the initial shock of the attack, he realized that the apparitions that had come for him had no faces. It must have been some kind of drug, to create the effect. He refused to think about how unlikely that was, because the alternative was that he really was going crazy and was imagining all of this. Besides, real or not, he had more urgent things to worry about.

He was pulled to his feet and led out of his room. They walked just behind him to the service elevator. He tried to cry out, stopping in surprise at the high-pitched shrill of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, with the same squeaky results. They went down in the elevator, then through another dim, but dirtier hallway.

They opened a door and pushed him through.

"Jack!"

Jack was startled at the high-pitched squeal of Daniel's voice, but knew better than to answer. Surprise turned to pleasure at seeing him. This was too risky just to be a further torment; their bizarre captors really did want something from them. Which meant that there just might be some way out of this after all.

Two of the three, probably the Bobsey Twins, held Daniel while the third walked over to him. Jack knew he looked bad, bruised all over, the left side of his face misshapen through lack of teeth, infected cuts everywhere swelling and weeping pus.

"You do good work, Doctor Jackson," the one near Jack complimented, waving toward Jack's injuries. His voice, the only one Jack had heard in all the days here, confirmed that it was the Paper-boy. "You were surprisingly thorough, especially on your so-called best friend. There wasn't much left for us to do."

Daniel looked mortified. "Jack…" his voice cracked comically, halfway between its original soprano and normal.

The Paper-boy interrupted. "We should thank you, Doctor Jackson. You broke his spirit for us; I'm told that's a first. It didn't take much more physical incentive to leave him on his knees."

Jack grated at the deliberate mistruth. They'd ensured that the he would kneel through the simple expedient of beating the tar out of his rear, legs, and the soles of his feet. The only thing left that could bear his weight was his knees. They'd left the wrist-rope just long enough to keep his hands outstretched before him, as if in supplication.

The Paper-boy held a small knife out of sight under Jack's arm, ready to follow-through on his earlier promise to sever the tendon and leave the arm permanently useless if Jack spoke. Jack barely heard a small sound, like plastic rustling, as the Paper-boy removed his other hand from his pocket. Jack tensed as a hand approached his face, paused, then rubbed against the abrasions on his cheeks. The smell of fresh onion penetrated his torn nostrils even as the sting of it bit into his face. He flinched involuntarily.

"You see?" the Paper-boy asked with mock sadness, addressing himself to Daniel. "He's afraid now. He cringes from me already. I told him that what happens to him next is up to you but it didn't make him feel any better."

Jack's eyes widened in angry horror at that threat. He quickly dropped his gaze, trying to send Daniel unspoken acceptance and forgiveness.

At least, he consoled himself, if Daniel still hates me, it will be a little easier on him.

"I told him that what happens to him next is up to you."

Daniel's heart broke as he saw Jack's eyes widen at the threat for a moment, then drop in apparent resignation. Jack didn't expect any help from him, maybe still didn't think he deserved any.

What could he possibly do? Before, he knew Jack would expect him to resist, to refuse to cooperate in any way, even to save a teammate. But now… his friend knelt before him, broken and betrayed, and believing that Daniel, that his entire team, thought him despicable. Whatever he did, he would fail Jack one way or the other, either confirming his own earlier hate-filled words or proving himself weak in what was effectively a hostage situation.

Before he could formulate any kind of reply, the apparition before him reached out and touched Jack's jaw. The Colonel's head snapped up, away from the touch. Was it pain? Or fear?

The Paper-boy's tone was soft, pitying. "He's crying…"

Daniel saw with horror that it was true. There were tears running down Jack's face.

oOo

He activated the Internet camera, smugly curious as to how his obnoxious 'friend' was handling his new lifestyle.

It was better than he had hoped. His 'friend' knelt, head bowed, defeated. If it weren't for the rope binding his wrists to the beam overhead, he'd collapse. He zoomed the focus, eager to get a better look at his ultimate triumph.

The small sound of the camera must have alerted the prisoner. The grey haired head started to move, slowly.

The watcher leaned forward, close to his screen, hardly believing his luck. He almost drooled in anticipation. He would cherish the image of Jack O'Neill, hopeless and broken.

The prisoner's face came into view. The eyes narrowed.

This was too good to be true; he was afraid! The watcher smiled.

The prisoner's mouth moved slightly.

The watcher leaned even closer – was O'Neill going to beg? God, he wished he had sound to go with the picture!

The prisoner stuck his tongue out at the camera.

The watcher struck his monitor in rage, then rose to stalk around his opulent office. He quickly regained his composure. This was only a temporary setback; he would win this little contest.

oOo

Daniel woke back in the white room, alone and unbound. He paced impatiently back and forth, waiting for Sam or Teal'c to visit. They promised they'd come every day. It happened fairly soon, the hospital staff having called Dr Levi to report her patient's apparent agitation.

Levi accompanied Sam and Teal'c to the hospital.

"Jack's alive!" he told them excitedly. "He's alive! They came last night and took me downstairs. Jack is there and he's alive!"

They were thrilled to hear it, quickly getting Daniel's best guess at where they had done. Stifling the impulse to immediately race down and get the Colonel, for fear of walking into a trap, they continued to question him.

"What did they want, Daniel?"

He paused, looking at Sam oddly. He bit his lip. "Nothing," he said slowly, his elation at finding Jack alive waning at this obvious question.

"Nothing?" Her disbelief was obvious.

"What specifically transpired, Daniel Jackson?"

"They came in and put me in a straightjacket." He couldn't resist the urge to move his arms at that point, just to prove to himself that he had that freedom again. "Then they took me downstairs. I saw Jack. They said I was the one that hurt him. He…" Daniel swallowed.

"Did he say anything?"

Daniel shook his head. "He was on his knees, he was crying."

Carter and Teal'c exchanged a look. Jack, crying?

"Then what happened?"

"They said that what happened next was up to me."

"And then?"

"I woke up here."

"That's it? They didn't ask you anything? Or make you do anything?" He shook his head and she frowned. "Well, what did they look like?"

"They were dressed all in white. They…" He paused, thinking back to the weird, faceless heads of the men who had taken him. Later, he had been totally focused on Jack and hadn't really looked at them. "…didn't have faces." He could see how realistic that didn't seem to the others. "I think they drugged me or something," he finished lamely.

With nothing else to go on, Carter, Teal'c, and Levi headed off to look for Jack. They took the elevator to the basement but found nothing. No rooms, no ropes. No Jack.

Frustrated, they went back up, stopping on every floor to see if it could possibly be the one. They were all clean, active hospital wards, not the dirty hall Daniel had described.

"His feet!"

Levi and Carter looked at Teal'c.

"He is barefoot. His feet should be dirty if he was walking around in the basement. It will be proof that something occurred."

They went back to Daniel's room and told him that they had not found Jack yet. And noticed that his feet were clean.

Levi stepped out of the room to order a drug test for Daniel and ask a few questions. She returned shortly to say that one of the other patients had claimed to hear Mickey Mouse during the night, another had heard her mother, and a third had seen ghosts.

Daniel picked up on that right away, telling them that the men in white had made him sound like Mickey Mouse.

Levi cast a doubtful look at Carter and Teal'c from behind Daniel.

oOo

Nothing happened that day, or the next. Daniel went over and over the events of that night, vainly searching for a missed clue. His blood test came back negative; if his assailants had drugged him, there was no evidence of it. There was no evidence of anything other than Daniel murdering Jack, and becoming progressively more unstable afterwards.

Dr Levi called Sam and Teal'c to her office one evening, closing the door behind them. The hospital was not a long-term care facility, she explained. Another psychiatrist would be evaluating Daniel in a few days to give a second opinion on his short-term prospects. The significance of that didn't seem to register with either of them.

Dr Levi spelled it out for them. If Daniel seemed too ill, the other psychiatrist would recommend a more permanent facility. If he seemed too well, his continued presence here would come into question.

Factual events would land Daniel in a new facility. He was a nearly-textbook case. His delusion had built up to a peak – the incident with Jack – after which it seemed to subside somewhat. He was supporting his delusion with convenient realities, such as claiming that his abductors had made him sound like Mickey Mouse after hearing that another patient had heard the comic voice. But the worst part was the prognosis. If they were wrong, and Daniel was building himself a new reality in which Jack was alive and he himself was innocent, then their support of this fantasy could be doing permanent damage to Daniel's mind.

Showing no record of any incidents might make Daniel seem too well, get him released into prison, and ruin their chance to catch the people behind all this.

Dr Levi asked for their help in working out a plausible story that would keep Daniel in the hospital. She would suggest to the other doctor that he interview Sam and Teal'c for their perceptions of their teammate's behavior.

oOo

The third night they came again, just as before. Daniel went willingly this time, almost eagerly, remembering to watch for clues. He saw now that they wore white ski masks, but saw no identifying marks or actions. The 'thing' they held to his mouth was a simple helium balloon, and the source of his high-pitched voice. It trailed behind them, cheerfully imploring him to 'Get Well Soon,' as they proceeded down the hall.

His elation at figuring out these simple things was short-lived.

Jack knelt, a knot growing in the pit of his stomach as he guessed what was going to happen. Daniel was back, standing before him, fastened to the wall by padded leather restraints, the hospital kind that don't leave marks.

He listened as the Paper-boy admonished Daniel for telling people about them and their night visit and saw Daniel tense, expecting a physical retribution to match the verbal. If he were allowed to speak, he could have told his teammate not to worry. About that, anyway.

He closed his eyes as his fears were confirmed; the Paper-boy cheerfully offered Daniel a choice of punishments to be inflicted on Jack.

Please, Daniel, please, please pick one! He didn't think he could take another unending set of demonstrations and questions. He held his breath as he waited.

Daniel refused to answer.

And the marathon began…

oOo

Not today. NOT Today! Dr Levi couldn't control the flash of anger when she entered the room and saw her patient's condition. Daniel's "objective second opinion" was today, and she was damn well going to get the result she wanted.

"Daniel."

No response. He huddled there, in his 'safe' place, hugging his knees and staring at nothing through tear-filled eyes.

She knelt before him and he still did not seem to notice her presence. The rank odor of sweat emanated from him, and from this distance his breath was a tiny whimper.

"Daniel?" She spoke gently, in case he might actually respond.

He shifted just a bit, his sickly sweet breath now caressing her cheek, but it was more of a cringe than anything else.

She was out of time; she quickly decided on an effective, if not compassionate, course of action.

First, the basics; she went to the door and asked the orderly to bring her a few things. Then, with a deep breath, she turned her back on the door and her Hippocratic oath – at least the 'do no harm' part – and set to work.

She used Daniel's horrific experience against him, mimicking some of the behaviors and even the words his tormentor had used. The ugly details, first gleaned from angry outbursts and later volunteered in bits as he hesitantly began to trust her, she now twisted in order to usurp the Goa'uld's control over him.

Kneeling again, she cupped his cheek in her hand and coldly ordered him to look at her.

Blue eyes flickered but didn't completely focus.

She stroked his cheek, just the way his captor had. God, he had hated that so much! He'd spent an entire session just ranting about why it shouldn't matter, it didn't mean anything, it didn't hurt… Except it did. It struck at his very soul when the Goa'uld happened upon the gesture his mother, and later Sha're, had used. Something that had meant safety, and love, and comfort, and had been defiled into pain and hatred and spite. His captor had taunted him with it repeatedly, probably because he couldn't hide his reaction to it.

She saw his teeth clench, his eyes narrow, felt him try to pull away and then stop. By the end, he hadn't been permitted to resist in any way, not even so much as turning his head.

"Look at me!"

He was watching her now, still somewhat confused, but watching nonetheless.

"I have a new game to play, My Pet," she drawled, emulating the silky tones he'd described to her. "If you please me this time, I will be lenient Next Time." He shuddered at the words, as she had known he would. It had taken days of therapy before he could even speak them. "You will play, yes?"

He nodded ever so slightly, eyes riveted on her now.

A soft knock at the door told her the orderly had the things she had requested. She retrieved the items, and the game began in earnest.

oOo

Dr Levi looked up from the paperwork on her desk as someone entered.

Teal'c stood menacingly over her. Carter, closing the door, looked almost as threatening.

"You visited Daniel." It was a statement, not a question. Levi did not stand up; she could not match their imposing physical presence even if she wanted to.

Carter was first to speak. "He swears nothing happened." And he had. Sworn it up, down, and sideways. Everything was fine, dandy, hunky-dory.

"I do not believe him." Teal'c had not backed down one inch.

"Of course not," Levi agreed, wryly noticing their reactions to her unexpected answer. "Something happened last night. I take it from the looks on your faces that your cameras didn't pick anything up?"

Carter allowed the distraction, but Teal'c continued to scrutinize her. The physicist shoved her hands in her pockets as she answered. "The camera shows him sleeping all night. Restless, but there in his room."

"Nothing at all?"

"Do not attempt to evade the issue," Teal'c ordered. "The camera shows nothing last night. However, it does show you entering his room and blocking the lens. You remained for quite some time. And now we find him…as he is. What did you do?"

Levi stood up now. She was not about to be intimidated, by him or anyone. And certainly not in her office. Size meant little; many of her patients were larger than she, and she knew attitude could make up for a lack of bulk. "I helped him to pass his evaluation!"

She waited for that to sink in before continuing, more mildly. "As he was this morning, Daniel would have been sent to a long-term facility. Whatever happened last night was pretty traumatic. I did what I had to do to keep him here, where we have some control." She winced at the unfortunate choice of words, but didn't go into details; she wasn't exactly proud of the means to the necessary end. Instead, she changed the subject to new plans for the days ahead.

oOo

The Paper-boy strolled in and took a good look at his prisoner, taking his time circling him.

Puddin's eyes moved with him, but that was as much as he could manage for now.

The Paper-boy shook his head; that last session had gone on far too long. It had been difficult not to kill Puddin', much less keep him alert. But he had his orders; he could not stop until Daniel made some choices. In the plural; one was not enough. They would only have a few combined sessions, so each had to have a big impact.

And they had; by the time they were done, Daniel and Puddin had both been reduced to boneless quivering. The Paper-boy smiled smugly behind his mask. It had been no small feat to keep them both keenly aware as he drove them past their limits.

The smile faded as he considered Puddin.' The man couldn't take much more abuse and survive. On the other hand, his own orders were that Puddin' should suffer each and every day. He circled again, looking for opportunities, the smile slowly returning as inspiration struck.

oOo

He activated the Internet camera, careful not to get his hopes up this time.

The prisoner lay on the floor, awake and unrestrained. The door could be seen in the image. It was open, deliberately taunting the man who was too weak to get up and leave.

He smiled slowly, recognizing a torture perhaps worse than the physical.

-- Next Day --

"Feeling better I see, Puddin,'" the Paper-boy chuckled. He really was glad to see it; thinking up non-physical abuse was harder than he thought. He gestured, and his companions bent, each grabbing an ankle and hauling Jack the four feet back to his original position.

The move elicited a yelp, which quickly tapered off in a series of moans, then gasps.

"You'll be ready for your friend to visit in another day or two." The Paper-boy paced slowly around him. "Noticed the invisible fence, eh?"

Jack narrowed his eyes as the searing pain in his gut was explained. Twin to the 'bark collar' that viciously shocked his neck for the slightest vocalization, they had given him a belt to prevent him from getting through the false temptation of the open door. He'd made it only a few feet before collapsing, the pain too intense even to move back away. He waited now for the blessed relief due an animal back in its invisible pen.

It didn't come.

The Paper-boy was nattering on, some threat or other that Jack could barely process in his current state, seemingly ignorant of the situation.

"Stop," he hissed finally, the syllable increasing in volume as the collar rebuked him.

The Paper-boy had been waiting for Jack to take the initiative. "Pretty slick, eh? Made a few custom mods to the belt for ya, Puddin.' Enough kick for an animal your size, of course. And it doesn't turn off. Stays at the highest setting you get it to, actually, until we turn it off. Imagine, adding a simple diode can –" He paused, as if just noticing Jack's glare. "Don't like it, Puddin'?"

Jack glared again.

"Sorry, Puddin,' can't hear you. Don't you like it?"

Jack shook his head.

"Still can't hear you, Puddin.' If you ask me nicely enough, I promise I'll turn it off."

He'd have to speak, deliberately activating the collar, to get him to stop the belt. Lovely. He wasn't naive enough to think that once would be enough, either. Jack's head thumped back down on the floor in despair.

The sound set off the collar.

-- THREE DAYS LATER --

Carter yawned, and gulped down the last of her coffee as they neared Daniel's room. It was early. Or, rather, it was late; she and Teal'c had been up all night monitoring Daniel's room. The camera as well as the new tracking device she'd attached directly to Daniel's shirt. Murphy's Law being in full force, nothing had happened. Four nights in a row of tag-team napping as they waited for their elusive prey to strike. She tossed the empty Styrofoam cup into the trash at the nurse's desk and they were taken to Daniel's room.

Daniel was awake, as they knew, but he didn't say anything until the nurse left. "Why didn't you come?" he hissed.

"What?"

"Why didn't you come? You were supposed to save Jack and catch the bastards who did this!"

Carter pursed her lips. "Daniel, you were in your room all night."

He told them what had happened. At least a little of it. The technical details. He could not admit to them, and barely to himself, the truth of the situation. He had been smug, over-confident with the knowledge that rescue was imminent, and made things worse. His quiet diatribe, peppered with deliberate jabs to make his teammates share his guilt, was interrupted when the door opened.

"Breakfast, Daniel," the orderly greeted cheerfully.

Daniel stared, his mouth slowly dropping open.

The orderly straightened warily, but kept his tone even and chipper. "How are we today, Daniel?"

"No…" He was shaking, his eyes riveted on the paper plate.

"Daniel…?"

"No!" He spun, looking wildly about. "No!" he was shouting now. "No, please!"

"Daniel, what's wrong?"

"Daniel Jackson, you must calm yourself."

They were unable to calm him. He kept shouting 'no' and looking at the corners of the room. Dr Levi was called, and she gave him a sedative. A real one. As it took effect, he backed to his alcove, sliding to the floor.

"Daniel, can you tell me what's wrong?" Levi asked gently, kneeling in front of him.

"The toast was burnt…" he sniffled, drawing his knees up and hugging them.

She reached out and stroked his cheek. The action focussed his attention on her. "Be still," she murmured sympathetically.

Wide eyes met hers, and he shivered.

"Be still, my pet," she murmured, stroking his cheek again.

She slowly rose and backed away, finding Carter and Teal'c near the door with an orderly. She waved them out silently. They went to her office.

Levi looked at the pair for a moment before speaking. "Has he had issues with, well, toast before?"

"Of course not!"

Levi sighed. "Let's give it a little time. Maybe he can tell us something more logical later. If not… we may have to consider that the stress really has been too much for him."

Daniel woke slowly, scrabbling back when he realized there were three figures looming over him.

"It's ok, Daniel, it's us," Carter's voice said.

He relaxed somewhat, leaning against the wall but bringing his knees up and hugging them.

Dr Levi knelt in front of him, reaching out to stroke his cheek comfortingly. He stiffened at the touch but did not pull away. "I had to sedate you, Daniel," she said softly.

"What happened, Daniel?" Carter asked, standing over Levi.

Daniel looked at her but didn't answer. He wouldn't talk to Teal'c, either.

Levi stroked his cheek again. "You can come see me, if you ask." She stood up and stepped back, addressing herself to Teal'c and Carter. "Let's give him some time to think." She led them out the door.

Daniel stayed where he was, not moving or speaking or eating for the rest of that day. They were watching, he knew they were. Watching and listening. They'd warned him not to talk, told him there would be dire consequences. Visions of blackened bread floated before his eyes, the acrid smell filling his nostrils.

Burnt toast.

The signal that they knew he had disobeyed. And that Jack was paying the price for it.

oOo

Carter and Teal'c visited again first thing the next morning. They were concerned to see Daniel red-eyed and sweating. It was happening more and more often. He said he felt 'fine' and had slept ok, in the room – he never, ever called it 'his' room – all night. He wouldn't meet their eyes as he said it, as if he were lying.

Carter offered him a pair of his favorite walnut cookies, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in a day. He took them from her and just held them slackly until she told him to please eat. With wide eyes sweeping the room, he quickly gobbled them down, obviously not really tasting them.

Carter pursed her lips as she watched; he seemed more nervous than hungry.

The door opened and the orderly came in. "Breakfast, Daniel," he greeted cheerfully.

Daniel trembled as he looked to see what was being brought. "Where's the toast?" he asked hoarsely.

"We have oatmeal today. With raisins, your favorite," the orderly coaxed, offering the bowl of lukewarm mush. He didn't bother to explain that oatmeal was the breakfast of choice for potentially violent patients; too fine to choke on, served too cool to burn skin, always too soft to hurt even if you threw it paper bowl and all.

He wouldn't be deterred. "Where's the toast?"

"The oatmeal is really good. Had some myself." He licked his lips for emphasis.

"Where's the toast?"

"I think we're out of toast," the orderly said carefully, avoiding a definite 'no' answer without offering any toast either. "Why don't you try the oatmeal?"

"I need toast!" He was shaking less and growing more agitated.

"Tell you what. You eat the oatmeal and I'll ask if there is toast."

Again, he reacted immediately when he was told rather than asked. He took the bowl and fairly inhaled the oatmeal, his gaze sweeping the room.

"I did what you told me," he pointed out.

"Yes, you did," the orderly confirmed gently. "I'll go check if we have toast." He left, locking the door behind him as usual.

Teal'c watched as Daniel paced back and forth across the cell – er, room. Oddly, his shaking seemed to subside even as his pacing showed continuing agitation.

The door opened and the orderly returned, paper plate in hand. Two more waited outside the door, just in case the toast was again traumatic. He offered Daniel the plate, lifting the napkin off to reveal the toast.

Very, very, lightly, golden brown.

Daniel took the plate and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, eyes closed, breathing rapid sighs of relief. Teal'c, Carter, and the orderly watched as the breaths slowed and he fell asleep, toast clutched to his heart, arms and legs curled protectively around it.

Teal'c turned to the orderly. "What is your interpretation of this?"

The orderly shrugged. "The man likes his breakfast food."

"This is an inappropriate time for jokes!"

"Who's joking? The man's in this place, he's got problems. If hugging toast – light toast – makes him feel better, let him do it. It's not hurting anybody."

"It is not normal."

"Cut the dude some slack, brother!"

"I am not your brother."

"You ain't his, either!" the orderly snapped, slang increasing with his irritation. "Give the guy a break. Have you looked around at this place? You'd get the shakes, too, if you were locked up in here."

oOo

Daniel alternately paced in his room and feigned sleep, waiting for them to come, knowing they would, tonight or some other night. Eventually, exhaustion won out and he slept for real. Jack's voice haunted his dreams, calling his name, saying please.

Outside, his friends waited and watched, their car hidden among the sea of employee vehicles, their fears less well concealed behind a waning conviction.

Carter stretched as best she could within the increasingly cramped confines of the sedan, reaching for the thermos of coffee at the same time.

She poured sparingly; it was only two a.m. and there was less than half left – they'd need the caffeine even more in a few hours. The cup dropped from her fingers as she realized what she'd just thought. They'd need it more in a few hours. Somewhere along the line, on one of these long vain nights or in that sad white room, she had stopped believing that they would actually catch anyone.

"Major Carter?" He laid a hand on her arm gently.

"Oh, God, Teal'c, what if we're wrong?"

"I, too, have begun to wonder," he confessed. Shamed at the admission, he turned his face away from her and toward the little monitor screen who's tiny images, as always, showed Daniel in his room.

Beside him, she sniffled back tears. "I almost wish The Keeper would show up, so we'd know this is some horrible fantasy. Or that I'd just wake up from this nightmare and everything would be ok again."

"This is not a dream." His tone was almost regretful. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally voiced what had been on both their minds. "We may be forced to consider the possibility that we are doing Daniel Jackson more harm than good."

"Dr Levi still believes there's someone behind this," she offered, with little hope.

Teal'c's expression went blank, as it had with every mention of the psychiatrist since she 'helped' Daniel pass the evaluation. He refused to speak of her, the silence of someone who may – or may not – have had his rarely-granted trust betrayed. He had no choice but to continue to work with her for now, but the jury was still out on her true motives. Carter had wondered more than once whether he would appoint himself judge and executioner if his internal jury should come back against the woman.

"This new device of yours must work." His tone was determined again, as if he could make it true by sheer force of will.

She accepted the slight change of subject. "Well, at least we know no one can mess with it. Them. Two of the six micro-trackers survived." She waved vaguely toward the monitor, where two blue dots nestled next to the green one that was the tracking device still on Daniel's shirt.

Teal'c smiled the barest bit. "It was ingenious of you to insert them into the cookies."

"If this doesn't work, nothing will," she quipped. They both sobered quickly at the distinct possibility that nothing would. That maybe their friend really belonged in the institution.

oOo

It happened so quickly, they almost missed it.

The green dot became two, then one again.

"Those bastards knew!" Carter spat angrily as she realized what was happening. They knew about the transmitter, and brought one of their own.

The duplicate dot appeared momentarily as they matched the frequency, then the original disappeared as they blocked its signal. They had almost been distracted by the other device, the camera who's video showed Daniel stirring restlessly in his sleep.

On the tracking screen, the green dot stayed still while the pair of blue dots danced down the hall, moving in Daniel's stomach as he walked.

Teal'c scooped up the tracking screen and Carter phoned for backup as they ran toward the building.

Daniel didn't resist when they came, closing his eyes and allowing them to put the restraining jacket on. He followed obediently and quietly when they led him away.

He dropped his head in defeat, staring at the floor as he walked. He was ready to cooperate. He'd gambled that he could catch them at their own game; gambled, and lost. He found himself hoping that he really was insane; then Jack would be beyond harm, Sam and Teal'c wouldn't have let him down, and he wouldn't be really betraying anyone when he gave the men in white whatever it was they wanted.

They stopped outside the door this time.

"You know Puddin' can't survive another round with us."

Daniel's breath caught, and he bit his lip. He nodded numbly. "What do I have to do?"

"Do our job for us."

He raised his head finally, confused. "What…? What job?" He peered around, wishing he had his glasses, looking for the task.

"You doing it will make up for the lack of our…flair. And he'll live. Probably."

He understood now. They wanted him to torture Jack. "No!"

The Paper-boy shrugged. "Come on in and watch him die then." He turned toward the door.

"Wait!"

He paused, but Daniel didn't say anything else, so he opened the door, pulling it shut again as he heard the man cry out.

"Let me do it!"

The Paper-boy almost laughed aloud. Too perfect! He hoped now that the door had not closed in time and that Puddin' had heard his friend call out for the opportunity.

"The Boss is watching. If you tell Puddin' what's going on, or if you aren't thorough enough, I'll have to come in and finish the job."

Daniel nodded miserably. Life meant hope, right? Jack always said so, even when things looked really bad. He didn't expect a rescue tonight, and maybe not ever, so he clung to the faint hope that an option would present itself. Sooner or later they would ask him to do something – something else, the something that was the real reason behind all of this, the something that meant he was not insane – and he would do it to save Jack.

The other two men stood back defensively as the Paper-boy removed Daniel's straightjacket.

Daniel just stood there, not about to take the next step until they made him.

The Paper-boy pushed open the door and ushered Daniel in. "Help yourself to our tools," he said cheerfully. To the wide-eyed man crouched obediently within the circle of the invisible fence, he added, "You've got yourself a new master, Puddin.' It was fun working with you." He waved jauntily and left.

oOo

Carter and Teal'c raced into the hospital, pausing for a moment to check their bearings on the little tracking screen.

"Down! He's below us!"

The stopped the elevator door before it closed, and unceremoniously rolled a wheelchair-bound woman out of it, shoving the ambulatory occupants after her. They pushed the 'basement' button and the doors closed again on the angry shouts of the former occupants.

As soon as they were alone, Carter took the tracking screen and Teal'c un-holstered his weapon in preparation for battle.

Buttons already having been pushed, the elevator went up first. They shared a look as they realized the direction they were moving. Their glares, and the exposed weapon, easily warned the happy new family on the third floor to wait for the next elevator to take their newborn home. The shocked faces would have been comical in any other situation.

A few moments later, they were on the way back down. Carter checked her weapon, then waited impatiently to get to the basement.

The elevator opened again on the first floor. The people they had evicted were there, along with a security officer. Carter reached out, hauling the security guard into the elevator, and they were on their way again, leaving more stunned faces behind. And one stunned face with them.

The un-armed guard pressed himself against the wall, hands raised. "Just leave me alone, ok? I only get 8 bucks an hour – I'm not gonna fight nobody with a gun."

Carter closed her eyes and sighed. So much for handy backup. She must have been watching too many dramatic-rescue scenes on tv to have even thought he might be of use.

"Look," she began tersely, watching him cringe before her. "We're with the Air Force. We have reason to believe a man is being held captive in the basement." Finally, thankfully, the elevator opened into the basement. "Stay on the elevator," she ordered the guard.

He nodded enthusiastically, happy with the plan so far.

"When the police come, tell them we are in the basement, and describe us to them so they know we are the good guys, ok?"

He gave her a thumbs up, courage returning as the doors safely closed between him and the gun-wielding pair.

She returned her attention to the tracking screen. "This way!" She led Teal'c to the left, down a corridor she was sure they had visited the first time that Daniel reported seeing Jack here.

They moved cautiously, weapons at the ready, skirting boxes and barrels stocked in the wide hallway, then pausing at the first door. It was dark and quiet inside.

The second door had a window, and lights beyond. Three men were sorting through huge mounds of laundry, white linens and uniforms and the familiar blue of operating room scrubs.

Carter hesitated, deciding. There was no point in asking them if they'd seen a patient down here; surely they would have called the hospital staff if they had. She was sorely tempted to ignore them and continue on her way, but she couldn't leave civilians in danger. If they ended up in a fire-fight, the bullets could easily pierce the thin drywall walls and injure them.

She entered the room and the men looked up casually.

"Just put it over…" the man's voice trailed off, pointing finger dropping. Obviously, he had expected another load of laundry.

"We're with the Air Force, the police are on the way. Go upstairs and wait in the lobby." She had to raise her voice over the volume of the super-industrial size washers and dryers.

Wide-eyed, they hurriedly did as they were told.

The third and last door was locked. She put the tracking screen in her vest pocket and retrieved her gun. Ducking low, she let Teal'c kick the door open, then dove inside.

Nothing.

The room was empty, except for more boxes and barrels like the ones in the hallway. It was a store-room. They flicked on the light and checked each of the narrow paths between the stacks.

Nothing.

The thrumming of the washers vibrated in their ears, and they went back to the comparative quiet of the hall to talk.

She took out the device, re-checking it. Daniel was close, very close horizontally, and on the same vertical level. They went back to the laundry room, and were even closer.

A sound, out of keeping with the rhythmic thrum of the machinery, alerted them and they spun, crouching behind the meager visual cover of the laundry.

"Police!" A voice shouted.

They stood slowly, identifying themselves. Carter gave them the same brief report she had used before, that they had reason to believe someone was being held here, and showed the lead officer the tracking screen.

He left one of his men at the door, and told her to lead the way for him and the rest.

She slowly moved toward the machinery, a lump forming in her gut as she feared they would find Daniel's body spinning in one of the machines. They checked them all, the sound in the room slowly fading as they hit the big red 'emergency stop' buttons in succession.

Nothing but wet, smelly laundry. One machine was filled with horribly blood-stained uniforms and for a moment, she thought they'd find him under it all. They didn't find anything, and ultimately decided that the hospital must wash the worst-stained items together.

"He's here!" she cried in frustration. "Not more than thirty feet away."

oOo

Daniel stood, trying to control his own emotions, and watched Jack's hate-filled eyes follow the Paper-boy until the door closed firmly behind. He saw the hate dissolve into happy relief as his friend turned to him. Frozen, torn between what he wanted to do and what he must, Jack's next change of expression seemed to happen in slow motion. Welcome faded to surprise, which melted into wary curiosity as he continued to grant the benefit of the doubt.

Daniel turned away, unable to bear seeing that curiosity turn to fear or, worse, hatred. He found himself facing the makeshift shelf on which the Paper-boy kept his tools. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the items he found there.

Some common hospital items: scalpel, forceps, retractors, and such. Tape and gauze, more likely intended as gags or blindfolds than bandages. A few medical-looking things he couldn't identify. His hand slid along, past the screwdriver, pliers, and hammer. He stared for a long moment at the three-inch nails loosely scattered beneath it, unable to control the tremor that ran through him, and decided not to even look at the rest of the objects.

He made his choice, took a deep breath to prepare himself, and turned, scalpel in hand.

Jack straightened, now sitting on the floor with his knees bent to one side rather than crouching, and looked expectantly at him. Daniel hesitated, confused, before the awful realization set in. Oh, God, Jack thought he had chosen the scalpel to free him from the collar.

Daniel knelt in front of Jack, and the colonel reached out, expecting to be given the scalpel. Daniel grabbed his hand, swept it down to the floor, and stabbed the scalpel into one of the swollen, infected cuts on it.

Jack cried out in shock and pain, and the sound triggered the collar. He collapsed forward, curling over this latest wound, grunting then panting as he struggled to silence himself.

Daniel recoiled, scrabbling away and climbing to his feet in horror, still clinging to the bloody, pus-dripping scalpel. He recovered first, and waited for Jack's reaction to subside.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Jack wordlessly pointed to his left foot, triple-sized with infection, the blue-green skin criss-crossed with red.

Daniel instinctively came close to examine the gruesome injury, and for just a second it felt like they were together on a mission again.

Then he tore a new cut across it with the scalpel.

Pus erupted from the fresh opening, and he felt it's sticky warmth spurt across his hand, different and thicker than the accompanying blood.

He stared into Jack's eyes, just inches from his own, seeing his shock. And a pain deeper than the physical.

"Don't look at me!" He half-screamed it, nothing could be worse than looking into those eyes.

Jack's eyes, then his whole head, dropped.

Daniel realized there was something worse than looking into the deep hurt in Jack's eyes.

Acceptance.

Jack wasn't going to resist him. He wasn't going to despise and taunt and fight him, like he had done a hundred other times with other tormentors, up to and including the Paper-boy. He slouched there, with no visible restraint other than the collar, and waited for Daniel to hurt him.

Daniel shifted the scalpel in his hand, and heard Jack take a breath and hold it. But he didn't fight or move away. Why didn't he … Daniel flashed back to that night in his apartment, the horrible things that he said. Jack hadn't fought back then, either, because he believed it all, believed that he deserved the abuse. And apparently he still believed it. Daniel shivered. How could he possibly do this to Jack now? How could he not, knowing that the alternative was death?

His indecision came to an abrupt end as he heard sounds at the door.

His grip tightened on the scalpel and he sliced open another festering wound, and another. Jack's bare torso and feet offered a multitude of unprotected targets and the sharp blade moved thirstily between them.

The door opened and Daniel lunged, desperate to save Jack by proving that he would inflict enough damage. Jack quickly went down under the intense onslaught.

"No! No! Let me do it! Let me!" he shouted, hacking furiously at Jack's wounds.

Shouts sounded around him, hands grabbed, and still he kept swinging, reaching toward Jack. "Let me do it! Let me!"

He found himself roughly pinned against the wall, the scalpel quickly forced from his grasping fingers. "Let me! Please, let me…" he closed his eyes in despair, knowing that the next thing he would see would be Jack's slow and painful death.

"Daniel Jackson!" Teal'c's shout startled him, and everyone in the room, into silence.

Carter stood defensively over her fallen leader, weapon holstered but hands ready just in case, her attention, and everyone's, on Daniel.

Daniel stood, wild eyed and breathing hard, pinned to the wall by Teal'c's iron grip. His hands and clothes were spattered with blood and pus, his face and hair streaked with more of it. He looked insane.

"Teal'c! Sam! I'm so glad you're here! Help Jack!"

Carter bent to examine the Colonel, and Teal'c loosened his grip on Daniel, causing the police in the room to tense warily.

"He's alive. Get a gurney down here!" Carter ordered, her hand still on the pulse at Jack's neck. She turned her gaze from the officer at the door back to the fallen man, intending to start first aid.

She didn't know where to start. One side of his face was misshapen, no doubt from the unpleasant dental work that had yielded the teeth, but she couldn't help that. All the other visible skin was thickly covered in blood and pus, much of it still oozing and running and dripping. The red and yellow mess blurred the extent of the injury beneath. A concave area on his side clearly defined broken ribs, and the huge bluish foot spoke of more broken bones. She decided to wait the few minutes it would take for a gurney – and a doctor – to come from the floors above.

One of the officers stepped to the side, face twisting in anger at the sight of the bloody tools. A second glanced over his shoulder, then took up a defensive position between Jack and Daniel.

A gurney, accompanied by a doctor, nurse, and another police officer, arrived. After a quick triage, the doctor glanced told the room in general. "He's gonna make it. Let's get him to the Emergency Room." The doctor waved as she spoke, and the gurney started to roll away.

Daniel suddenly lunged at it. Multiple hands grabbed him and his fingers slipped off Jack's belly as the gurney was jerked several feet further away.

Jack twisted on the small bed, doubling up in pain. Daniel strained toward him again and they pulled the injured man away, continuing down the hall. Jack cried out, his body convulsing as the increasing pain of the belt tore a series of yelps from him and the collar mercilessly responded to the sounds.

"He's having a seizure!"

Daniel struggled to get to him. "No! Let me –" gasp "I have to –" In his mind, the urgency was to get to Jack, to get the belt off and to just be there.

Horrified at Daniel's violence, Carter ordered the gurney away, following behind as the Colonel's last line of defense. As the elevator doors closed, she stared back at the bloody spectre of her friend, howling and reaching out to them like something out of a horror movie, fighting to get past Teal'c and three policemen.

If he hadn't been insane before, he certainly was now.

oOo

By the time they reached the Emergency Room on the first floor, the nurse was lying half-across Jack's writhing body to hold him on the gurney. They had to strap him down to X-Ray him.

"Can't you give him something?" Sam asked, frightened by the mindless ferocity of her CO's convulsions, shouting to be heard over his wrenching cries and the flurry of activity around him.

"Soon. We need to know what's going on first," the doctor shouted back, not even looking at her. Nearby, two nurses struggled to take a blood sample, knowing they dare not give drugs until they knew what he might already have in his system.

The first x-ray panel appeared at the top of the portable unit.

The doctor scrutinized it, leaning in to peer more closely. Her eyes widened as the diagnosis became clear. "Oh my God! Scalpel!"

Sam was automatically pushed to the doorway as the staff responded to the doctor's call, preparing for some kind of emergency surgical activity. She couldn't help trying to get back in; if the miracle of finding Jack alive was only to last these precious few minutes, she had to be there so he could die with a friend at his side, knowing he hadn't been left behind.

In her desperation, she knocked the tray from the nurse's hands. The instruments, including the scalpel, clattered to the floor.

The doctor bent and scooped up the scalpel, turning back toward her patient.

"Doctor! It's not sterile!"

"Doesn't matter now!"

Sam was firmly pushed away this time. All she could see was an ocean of blue-and-white bodies over the Colonel, the whole sea of them heaving in time to the bucking of his body.

Movement and sound stopped suddenly.

The silence echoed.

Teal'c, Daniel, and an entourage of policemen appeared in time to hear the doctor sigh, "It's over."

Carter, Teal'c, and Daniel stood in stunned silence outside the door as motion, quietly efficient now instead of urgent, resumed in the room.

The police were not so hesitant. They read a dazed Daniel his rights, arresting him for murder. There would be no question this time; officers of the law had witnessed his brutal attack.

"Stay with O'Neill," Teal'c told Carter, giving her the duty of honor-guard for the newly deceased and taking the worse assignment for himself. "I shall accompany Daniel Jackson."

"We can't take you in the squad car," one of the officers said apologetically. His quiet, confident manner was reassuring. He seemed somehow familiar and Carter wondered where she had seen him before; one of Pete's friends, perhaps? "You can meet us at the station," he suggested.

Teal'c hesitated, but Carter nodded reluctantly, understanding that they could not transport extra people. They watched as Daniel was led out of sight, bracketed by three officers.

Three.

She realized suddenly where she had seen him before.

They were the three men in the laundry room.

"No! Stop!" She raced after them, Teal'c at her heels. They dodged visitors and staff, bypassed the slowly revolving door and plunged through the emergency door next to it.

Daniel and the three men were nowhere to be seen.

oOo

Jack lay on the table, reveling in pure relief as the excruciating pain in his gut abruptly stopped. His limbs sagged bonelessly after the long minutes of intense straining. After a few seconds, he remembered to breathe.

Then he remembered the rest.

He wasn't exactly sure where he was; the lack of pain said he must be back within the invisible fence, but it didn't feel like the concrete floor beneath him. There was movement around him, too much for just the Paper-boy and the Bobsey Twins.

He opened his eyes, finding himself in the infirmary. No, the walls were blue instead of grey and the faces unfamiliar; it must be some other medical place. His gaze found Carter and Teal'c in the doorway, just in time to see them turn away abruptly and leave.

It wasn't just Daniel, then, who hated him.

"No."

"Look, they need to fix you up now. And you need a pain-killer." Dr Levi was exasperated with, and confused by, his refusals to accept treatment. The 'body-shop' staff in the Emergency Room had called her in, apparently thinking that she, as a psychiatrist, could magically change his obstinate mind as fast as they could tend to his body.

"No."

"A sedative then," the Emergency physician, Dr Cade suggested. "You'll wake up a new man," she enticed.

Dr Levi narrowed her eyes as she saw a look pass across Jack's face. Was he wishing he was someone else? Couldn't be; the man was the unsung hero of the SGC.

"No. Just do it."

"Colonel," Dr Levi said sternly. "Staying awake and alert won't make any difference right now. Take the pain-killer."

"You can't make me." A petulant reference to her forcing him to accept antibiotics; even that had taken the threat of declaring him suicidal and therefore incompetent to make his own medical decisions. But they both knew that pain relief was in a different category.

Dr Levi crossed her arms and glared down at him. "There is a three-inch long nail embedded in your left foot. We have to cut it out." She waggled her fingers like scissors in front of him for emphasis.

He lifted the foot and dropped it directly in front of her, inviting her to dig in, but the bravado was marred by a wince he couldn't hide.

Dr Levi gave him an annoyed stare, picked up the corner of his bed sheet and coolly wiped at the pus and blood he'd just splattered on her lab coat. She shrugged, turning to Dr Cade. "He made his choice. Go ahead."

"I can't debride his foot without at least local anesthetic!" Cade stared with disbelief at her colleague. "Ideally, he shouldn't even be conscious."

Levi chuckled without humor. "He won't be for long." Debriding, the process of removing the nail, pus, and any already-dead tissue, would leave the foot half its current size. Maybe less; the distinctive stench of gangrene had assaulted her nostrils the moment she entered and that usually signaled major cutting ahead. If he managed to stay conscious through it all, he'd be wishing he hadn't.

Dr Cade didn't move.

Dr Levi rolled her eyes. She was not about to baby-sit this pair. "Ok, start draining and cleaning the infected lacerations. He'll change his mind quickly enough."

Dr Cade looked at her, mutely asking for some other solution, then at her patient, glaring defiantly up. She started, clearly hesitant and growing more so with each new wound she touched. The barest touch made him tremble; opening, cleaning, and sometimes stitching made her cringe almost as much as him.

Jack gripped the sides of the bed, eyes tightly closed, teeth gritted, desperately trying to control his breathing.

Dr Levi watched the pair of them. Cade was being too empathetic to the physical issues – it was the Colonel's decision, after all, and there had to be some significant reason driving such a horrific choice. Whatever it was, going against it could leave a longer-lasting emotional injury than the physical pain.

By the time the fifth wound was treated, Jack's breath was a series of short, shallow, near-whines. His body was rigid, almost suspended between his hands on the rails and his good foot digging into the bed. A very pale Cade balked, imploring Levi again to find another way.

Levi swore under her breath. O'Neill was too strong to pass out. And Cade was too weak to take decisive action.

Enough was enough. It was time to put them both out of their misery.

Levi reached out and dug her fingers into his foot. He arched in agony, his rough cry ending in a quivering gasp as he passed out.

Cade stared in horror. Still not taking action for her patient, Dr Levi noted dryly. Lot of good she would have been in the field.

"Problem solved. No drugs. No conscious patient. Try to finish before he wakes up." She spun on her heel and left before Cade could waste more time talking about ethics.

Daniel slumped on the cold floor of the abandoned house, not bothering to listen as the three men argued over his head.

He didn't care any more.

He'd ripped his best friend's heart out with his words, then shredded his flesh with his actions. Jack died, still believing all the horrible things he'd said to him, believing that he deserved what had happened, believing that Daniel had wanted to hurt him.

He pressed his palms flat against the floor, willing himself to feel just the old, rough wood and not Jack's fever-hot body tensing beneath him as the man resisted the urge to defend himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, and the image of Jack's eyes, in that moment after Daniel's first strike with the scalpel, floated before them. He snapped his eyelids open, eager to see anything else. The sight of his own hands revolted him; their smooth pinkness seeming so wrong after the cruel red-blue-green of Jack's tortured skin.

A commotion sounded around him, but he didn't bother to look up. Let them kill each other. And him, too, for that matter.

Hands lifted him to his feet and he stood, heedless of what they might intend, staring at nothing now. A scratchy wool blanket was thrown over him, prickling his skin. He made no move to hold it, and it slipped to the floor, quickly replaced then held by someone else.

They led, and he followed.

oOo

Sam and Teal'c rushed into the room. Daniel sat, wrapped in the woolen blanket, staring into space.

Sam knelt on one knee to look him in the face. "Daniel?"

He dropped his head, unable and unwilling to look at her. Jack was dead, and it was his fault. His gaze fell on his own hands, lying numbly in his lap. He buried them in a fold of blanket, loathing their deceptively innocent appearance.

"Daniel?"

He refused to look at her, or to speak.

She turned to the other men in the room, one of the police-Air Force teams sent out to search for the tiny tracking signal that had been their last hope of finding Daniel.

The Air Force officer spoke before she could. "How is Colonel O'Neill?"

She half-smiled at him. "They're patching him up now, but he's going to be fine."

Daniel only half-heard Sam asking for the details of his own rescue. Jack was alive! But how? He started to pay attention to his surroundings again. The Air Force officer, a member of SG-9 whose name escaped him but who used to tease him about his non-regulation hair, was talking. Telling Sam how Daniel had been found, naked and dazed.

"I was searched."

All heads turned to him now.

Sam hesitated, then asked the question they were probably all thinking. "What about…" She gestured to his bruised mouth and more vaguely to his bruised backside.

"Thoroughly searched."

Every one of them grimaced at that picture.

"They were sure there was a tracking device. They took my bloody clothes and hosed me down. Someone got close anyway. They scrubbed me again, clipped my nails in case the device was under them," he extracted one hand from the blanket and displayed nails cut to the quick. "Still someone came close. They kept demanding to know where the tracking device was. I told them it had been on the shirt but they didn't believe it." He looked away before finishing. "They searched one more time. Mouth, nose, ears. Everywhere."

More squirming as the others envisioned that.

He wanted to shout at them to stop it, but didn't dare. What would Jack do? He'd make a joke. Daniel looked at the man from SG-9 with an attempt at a rueful smile. "Guess I finally got that haircut."

He smiled in return, a wider grin showing relief as well as humor. "Guess you did!" He rubbed his hand over the short stubble that was all that remained of Daniel's hair.

"How did you find me, anyway?"

Sam bit her lip, then grinned wickedly. "There is a tracking device."

"Where?" he demanded, feeling more and more like himself with the knowledge that Jack was alive.

"It was in the cookie you ate." She sobered. "We were getting worried; there can't be much time left before…"

Before he excreted the tracking device and was lost forever. To the still-unknown people who… "How's Jack?"

Dr Levi entered, closing the door behind her, and assessed the patient before her.

Jack lay in bed, staring at nothing. He was bandaged from neck to waist, and his foot was raised up on a pillow. An IV quietly fed antibiotics into his bloodstream and a cannula fed extra oxygen through his nose and into his lungs. Breathing was no picnic, even so; they couldn't strap the broken ribs because of the surface wounds. But none of that was the real problem facing him.

"Colonel O'Neill."

He ignored her.

She held a threatening hand over his injured foot. "Do I need to insist on your attention?"

Brown eyes flicked resentfully her way, but still he said nothing.

She told him what she knew, giving him an overview of Daniel's side of that last fateful night.

He stared stonily ahead.

She listed facts, the search for him, the plan to catch his alleged killers, the reason for Daniel's physical attack.

He was listening; she could see the tiny changes in his breathing and body that said he was under stress and hiding it. But he wasn't believing.

She sighed, and slipped her hand into her pocket to retrieve a mini tape recorder. "Let him tell you himself, then."

She clicked the 'play' button, and Jack's eyes went wide as Daniel's voice spoke. He listened as a very upset Daniel described that night in his apartment. How, in his anger and pain, he had wanted to lash out, to hurt someone as badly as he felt he himself had been hurt over the years. When Jack innocently wandered into the danger zone, he became the target, and Daniel had promptly gone for his most vulnerable spots. He admitted twisting the truth to his own ends, bitterly comparing himself to a campaigning politician.

Levi snapped off the recorder, and there was silence. The tape had had its effect, though. The stony blankness of the Colonel's expression was gone, replaced by a series of emotions as he considered what he had just heard. She waited, letting him process it all.

"You can't do that," he finally said.

She smirked. It figured that he'd skip all the emotional stuff and slap her with the regulations about patient confidentiality. "I'm probably going to lose my license, anyway," she said, offhandedly, as if it didn't really matter. "And, you have to admit, this is the fastest means to the end."

"They teach you that in the Patton school of psychology?"

"Graduated top of my class." She smiled sweetly at him. "Your dental surgery is tomorrow. Want me to come by with the anesthesia?" She raised her hand over his foot again, fingers bent, clawlike, ready to strike.

"No, thanks. I think I'll take the sedative this time."

oOo

Carter pasted a cheerful smile on her face before resolutely opening the door. She and Teal'c had come to cheer up the Colonel before his surgery, and by God, they were going to cheer him whether he liked it or not.

Well, ok, maybe it would be better to have a more realistic goal. Like getting him to look directly at them, which he hadn't done since his dramatic return. Or dragging a whole sentence out of him. For a moment, she considered deliberately trying to piss him off; even an angry response would be better than the polite-acquaintance small talk of late.

She found herself doing a quick recon of the room as she entered, checking for projectiles; she didn't want him armed if she did decide to make him lose his temper. At least she didn't have to worry about direct combat; she could outrun him while his foot was injured. With a self-conscious snort at the ridiculous idea, she gave up on the delaying tactics and turned to face the inevitable.

The Colonel was looking at her. Right at her, and with that bemused look that she usually earned when dreaming up what some new alien device might be able to do. Her surprise must have shown.

"Carter," one side of his mouth quirked, as if he were enjoying a joke at her expense. "Teal'c." He turned the pleased expression in the Jaffa's direction. "Where's Daniel?"

"He'll come by later, after your surgery, with General Hammond."

"Why didn't he come with you?"

She was surprised at his sharp tone. "Well, he, uh…"

"He is only permitted to travel in the General's custody," Teal'c finished for her.

"What? Why?"

"He is under suspicion in the assaults upon you."

"What!"

She could see his disbelief, turning to outrage. "The police believe he was complicit. They saw him attack you. And there's no fingerprints except his on the," she swallowed, "weapons in that room. And then there's the evidence in your original death. And –"

"Who's side are you on?"

His head was cocked to one side, eyes wide with that 'what the hell is the matter with you' expression. She could hardly keep from grinning at his responsiveness. She didn't know what prompted the change, but the Colonel was back!

"I'm just saying…" she finished lamely, doing her best Daniel impression in hopes that he'd recognize it.

He laughed just a bit, then settled back into his pillow. "He'll get off, though. Right?"

"Well, there's no way he could have done this alone. I mean, even getting out of the hospital room is –"

"He'll get off, though. Right?"

She smiled at him. "Yes, sir." She tried the Daniel impression again. "I was just saying…"

He looked sad suddenly, and she was sorry she hadn't quit while she was ahead.

"I'm the one who should be saying…" His voice trailed off even as his gaze swept their faces. "Look, you guys are… I mean, I just want to say that…"

She smiled warmly. "We know, sir."

"It is good to have you back, O'Neill."

There was a rare softness in the Colonel's face, one that spoke of deep emotion. "No, I need to say this, before –"

The door opened, and a nurse bustled in.

"Can you come back later?" the Colonel snapped.

She ignored the attitude entirely. "You need your meds before surgery."

"That's not for another hour!"

"You take your meds now, so you're ready in an hour." She glanced at the rebellious man before her. "Trust me on this; you do not want to feel them cut into you."

"Not again."

Carter barely heard him mutter the words, and shivered at the implication. He had felt it when they cut out part of his jawbone as evidence in his faked death.

Her mind still on that awful image, she allowed the nurse to shoo them out. Apparently, more preparation than just the medication was needed. She had one last glimpse of that emotional expression before the door closed. It nearly broke her heart; to have him not only back, but back and obviously wanting to talk for a change. Oh, why did the nurse have to come now of all times?

An answer presented itself. An ugly, unwanted, awful answer that curled in her stomach like an icy snake.

Maybe it wasn't the nurse who chose a bad time.

Maybe the Colonel had. He suddenly opened up, becoming emotional and saying he 'needed to say this 'before'.' Before the surgery? It didn't make any sense.

Unless he was headed for far more risky surgery than mere dental work.

oOo

General George Hammond paused at the nurses' desk to personally thank the staff for taking good care of his officer. He waved Daniel on ahead, waiting for him to walk a distance toward Jack's room before also apologizing for Carter and Teal'c's inexplicable behavior that morning. He told the nurses he appreciated their forbearance in dealing with the pair's way-overblown anxiety for the Colonel and his surgery. They were in the lobby now, giving him ten minutes for a quick recon of what they had turned into enemy territory; if he didn't call in that time, they were to arrive and make peace with the staff. Or face the wrath of George Hammond.

Formal gratitude melted to gentle humor as he chatted amiably, enjoying the break from missions, meetings, and all things military. He chuckled, eyes sparkling, as the nurses rolled their eyes and complained about his cranky colonel.

Decorum disappeared with the sound of an angry shout and a wet thud.

In an instant, the affable father figure morphed into a commando. He dodged swiftly down the hall, quietly ordering the innocents to safety behind him. Grabbing an IV pole from the back of an empty wheelchair and holding it as a quarterstaff, he slipped into O'Neill's room, ready to defend against the latest attack against his people.

oOo

"Colonel O'Neill!" Hammond's anger showed that this had absolutely gone too far.

Jack ducked his head and looked upward at the General, playing the very model of abashed penitence.

The General bit back a relieved smile. Jack was safe. And up to his old hijinx. Still, some degree of propriety needed to be maintained. He sternly reminded his subordinate of the type of behavior he expected – demanded – of him.

Jack accepted the admonishment meekly, his own smile no better hidden than the General's.

With a final glare, Hammond left to call off the reinforcements.

Daniel watched the door close behind the General, the uneven brown stain of splattered pudding on its metal back fitting into place with the one on the adjacent wall. Pursing his lips, he turned back to Jack. "Why didn't you tell the General that I was the one who threw the pudding?"

Jack looked at his friend's suspicious face and knew they had to get back to their normal relationship soon, or they never would. In other words, time for a joke. He quirked up the un-swollen side of his face in a semblance of a grin. "Because you're the crazy one; I'm just cranky!"

Daniel's eyes went wide with surprise at the direct reference to his sanity, then narrowed with feigned anger at the really, really bad joke. He raised his hand in jest as if to backhand Jack for it.

"No!"

"Daniel Jackson!"

The reinforcements had arrived. In the form of Carter and Teal'c, both horrified to once again enter a room and find Daniel attacking Jack. They pounced instantly.

"What is WRONG with you people!"

His exasperated shout froze the action in the room. Daniel peered up at him from beneath Carter and Teal'c, seemingly more afraid of the General than his teammates. Carter stared at her superior officer, wide-eyed, one oblivious hand still pressing Daniel's face to the floor. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to think of a reasonable explanation for wrestling with her coworkers on the hospital floor. Teal'c wore his usual imperturbable expression as he crouched there, his body half across both the others,' arms pinning one side of Daniel down.

Colonel O'Neill, twisted sideways on the bed and tangled in his IV tubing, had the sense to look ashamed. "Shorry, shir," he slurred through his swollen mouth. "My faulth. Jus' playin' around."

Was it his imagination? Or was that slur more noticeable than before? The man was probably trying to buy a little sympathy. Well, too late. He was fresh out.

"On your feet," he growled at the trio on the floor.

They scurried to obey, but flopped about with uncharacteristic clumsiness, struggling with each other until they finally stood in a line before him. Carter was next to the bed, Teal'c beside her. Daniel had ended up furthest away.

Hammond glared at them for a solid minute, wondering that it wasn't having it's usual effect. Teal'c looked attentive. Too attentive, as if he were alert for something to happen. Hammond wasn't the only one to notice it, either. Daniel started throwing odd glances toward the bigger man, first surprise, then anger. And unless he was imagining things again, Teal'c was bristling in response. His body language fairly screamed his warning. When Carter did a quarter turn, putting herself squarely between the Colonel and her other teammates, it was time to re-take control before another brawl broke out.

"Anyone care to explain what's been happening in here?"

Silence and surreptitious glances met that, and all his attempts to get them to answer. This was clearly not the time for their very much-needed team talk. Still, that didn't mean he was going to let them get away with anything.

"I will administer disciplinary action when we get back to the base," he paused to glare at each one in turn, letting them wonder what he had in mind. "Now, march. Single file, and don't even think about speaking or touching one another until you are in the mountain!"

He turned, gaze falling on the stained door and wall. Ah, yes, the beginning of the end of his little peace mission to the hospital. "I'll have them send you some more pudding, Colonel. You will thank them and eat every bit of it."

Jack looked absolutely mortified.

Hammond smirked to himself. He had no idea the colonel disliked pudding so much. He'd have to file that handy fact away for future reference.

"General, please don't make him eat it."

He turned to Daniel. "If you tell me why it was thrown in the first place." He really wanted to know what had started all this. Jack screwed around plenty in the base infirmary, but making a slippery mess like that would be over the top there, and was totally out of line in a public hospital.

Daniel hesitated, glancing at Jack.

The Colonel paused, then shook his head.

So. One dose of pudding was enough to make him think about talking, eh? More ought to do the trick, then. "Maybe I'll have them give you pudding with every meal. Unless you'd care to explain instead?" Come on, Colonel, he silently urged. Say something. You need it. Your team needs it.

Jack bit his lip, considering the offer, then made his choice.

oOo

Daniel doodled nervously on his notepad as he waited for Hammond to arrive. His mind conjured all sorts of awful scenarios. The police were on the way. Or, the police cleared you, but you're out of the SGC forever. The best he could probably hope for was to get to work at the SGC on Earth.

No, he corrected himself, the best he could hope for had already come true. There was a day, not very long ago, when all he had wanted in the whole universe was for Jack to be alive.

The Colonel had been transferred to the base infirmary the day after the pudding fiasco. The hospital staff had happily escorted him out. He was surprised they hadn't raced Jack's wheelchair to the curb and locked the door behind him.

Jack sat across from him at the briefing table, pretending to be bored. There was too much tension in his restless hands, though, and too few jokes. As in, none.

There was a day, not so long before the days when he just wished for Jack to be alive, that SG-1 would have been bantering among themselves, making jokes, playing 'football' with folded paper triangles as they waited for the General to arrive.

A day when they were SG-1.

Now, they seemed to be four strangers, sharing the room with silence and exaggerated politeness, preferring their own thoughts to conversation. He wasn't sure Sam or Teal'c trusted him anymore. There was some kind of tension between them and Jack, too, although less. Well, if they hadn't been so quick to jump me in the hospital, then Jack wouldn't have ended up gagging down all that pudding, he thought spitefully.

He immediately regretted the thought; Jack had had a really hard time with the pudding. One of the times he'd tried to go and talk to Jack, he'd seen him staring at the bowl like an enemy. Fighting between the newly-past demons the very word conjured and his inherent aversion to sharing his feelings, no doubt. He'd crept away, unseen, when Jack lifted the spoon with a shaky hand.

His maudlin thoughts were interrupted by Hammond's arrival.

The General paused in the doorway. "It's good to see SG-1 all together again."

Daniel straightened a bit. Could this mean that he was back on the team? Hope, and his posture, drooped quickly. With or without him, SG-1 was not a team right now.

"I've asked Dr Levi to join us."

She entered at the sound of her name, taking a seat next to Carter.

Daniel's eyes, and his thoughts, followed Levi. He felt confused around her. She was the one who got Jack to open up in the hospital, the one who made him start talking again. But she did those other things, too. She had acted like his Goa'uld captor, had touched him the same ways, used the same words. Using her expertise to twist his vulnerable mind, to make him say and do what she wanted. She had violated him in the worst way. But she did it for his own good, to keep him from being sent away permanently. It made his head hurt to think about it.

Hammond took his seat at the head of the table, setting a manila folder down in front of him. He looked gravely around the room before speaking.

"As you know, we were able to capture one of the perpetrators of recent events. He has given us some background."

They all leaned forward intently.

Hammond opened the folder, reading from it at times, paraphrasing at others. "A party or parties unknown, but presumed to be the NID or the Trust, learned that Dr Jackson was having a slow recovery from his ordeal with the Goa'uld, and might not return to psychological fitness. They saw an opportunity to get information, and potentially possession of Dr Jackson himself. They began watching him, adding little stresses where possible, trying to get him locked away. Their hope was to get limited access in the psychiatric hospital and free access to him when he was eventually moved to a permanent psychiatric facility. Which they made every effort to ensure happened."

Daniel's mouth dropped open. All those things, the things that he saw and no one else did, had been real. Real set-ups to make him seem crazy. Even the helium balloon made sense now; if he got away or called for help, no one would believe a straight-jacketed man toting a balloon and sounding like Mickey-mouse.

Hammond watched them as he delivered more big news. "They saw Dr Jackson's drunken fight with Colonel O'Neill as An Opportune Time for them to achieve their goals. Fortunately, the Colonel's early departure cut short plans to kill him where he lay on Dr Jackson's hearth and let guilt and evidence push the linguist into their eager grasp."

Daniel shuddered. They were going to kill Jack right there? It would have worked; he didn't think he'd ever have recovered from finding his friend's dead body on his hearth and thinking he was responsible. He would not have had even that teeny, tiny little bit of doubt that had kept him going for so long.

Hammond sighed. "Unfortunately, the prolonged search for the Colonel only modified their options."

"They split up, some kidnapping a homeless silver-haired man while the others followed Dr Jackson until he found Colonel O'Neill. They watched and listened for a good moment, knowing that the right situation would maximize Dr Jackson's belief that he had killed Colonel O'Neill and therefore speed his way to supposed insanity. When Dr Jackson raised his hand to Colonel O'Neill, they drugged him, dropping him almost instantly."

Daniel raised one hand at that point, mimicking the original motion. He reached out with a tentative forefinger and touched his bicep, remembering the sting of the dart there. He smiled suddenly with relief; the rush of rage that he recalled so vividly had not been directed at Jack. It was because he knew he had been drugged.

"They kidnapped Colonel O'Neill, taking teeth and bone and clothes as evidence, then killed the homeless man in his place. The grenade ensured that they couldn't prove or disprove the body's identity. But they had to let someone else set it off so that they'd be pretty sure it was the Colonel to start with."

Daniel was sure the General had paraphrased that part, but Jack's face was white nonetheless. Another innocent death on his hands. He had to say something, to make it less senseless. "Why?" He looked defensively at all the eyes turned his way. "They were careful not to kill Jack. They wanted something from him, even if they didn't say what it was. There has to be a reason." Oh, please, please let there be a reason. Something beyond Jack's control, to make it a little easier for him to bear.

Hammond was not happy with the question, but he answered it. Better they hear it from him than from some report somewhere down the line. "Colonel O'Neill made convenient leverage against Dr Jackson and, apparently, was also their back-up plan. If Dr Jackson survived all their attempts against him, they would still have Colonel O'Neill. And he'd have been softened up by his use as 'leverage.'"

The Colonel's face was a cold mask, unreadable. Finally, he said, "It's a good thing you didn't give up, Daniel."

"It was close," Daniel admitted. "Too close."

"Maybe not as close as you think," Hammond said. He chuckled without humor at their expressions. "Dr Levi brought me evidence that there were outside influences at work."

All eyes turned her way.

"I had my doubts for a while, too. But I knew there was someone behind it when I smelled your too-sweet diabetic breath and saw you stop shaking when you ate." Levi saw realization dawn on Carter and Teal'c's faces and knew they had seen the symptoms as well, even if they hadn't recognized them for what they were. "I suspected they were slipping you small amounts of insulin to get the shaky, sweaty, physical appearance of a degrading condition. So I added to your regular blood tests, and we had proof."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Carter and Teal'c demanded, almost in stereo. They could have used some encouragement right about then.

"It was too convenient for this to start the day of his evaluation; they had to have known. I had no way to know who told them."

They looked offended.

"Why didn't you tell me about the cookies?" Dr Levi countered.

They all looked ruefully at each other.

"That's the problem with black ops," Jack said, his first contribution to the discussion in several minutes. "You stop trusting everyone."

There was silence again as they all considered that.

"Did he give you names yet?" Carter prompted, trying to turn the subject to the hopefully imminent capture of the animals who had done this.

"He won't be giving us any names."

"If the NID is pulling him out of here—" Jack began.

Teal'c was already on his feet, ready to extract information before their source disappeared.

"They tried, but we stopped them." The General informed them.

"Then there's still time."

"No. He was found dead in his cell. They couldn't get him out so they terminated him."

One down. But where were the others?

Daniel stared at the computer screen. The little box cursor blinked impatiently at him, as if urging him to write something on the blank expanse.

He sat back, chewing distractedly on a pencil, as he debated. This report was crucial; Dr Levi's professional life – or death – was in his hands. His words would determine whether she returned to duty or lost her job. He could probably push for legal prosecution if he chose to.

It was all up to him. Levi regretted what she said she 'had to do' to him, but she would not deny it if he reported her. He couldn't share the responsibility with Jack, either; the colonel had turned in his report. Apparently, Dr Levi had caused him to pass out in the emergency room when she slipped on a surgical glove and accidentally grabbed his injured foot.

He was the one in control of her future now, instead of the other way around. He had the power to take away her job, her whole livelihood, as she had threatened to do to his. It didn't feel as good as he had thought it would.

The cursor continued to blink as if tapping its tiny electronic foot with annoyance.

Jack knelt with difficulty, angling his healing foot out to one side. It was eerie to see his own grave, even if he wasn't the one in it.

Yet. He still couldn't shake the feeling that they were out there. That there would be another 'opportune time' when he least expected it.

He silently apologized to the unknown man buried there. Still unknown, and probably always would be; there wasn't much to go on for identification. He decided to have the headstone changed, and let the man lie in peace. He'd suffered enough.

He wordlessly told the man that it was a nice site; on a hill, no trees, but with a view of a lake. It was pretty. Restful. Idyllic, if a grave ever can be, except for one thing.

No one would tell him why they hadn't buried him next to Charlie.

He said his goodbyes, and a final apology, before struggling to his feet. Hands quickly reached out to help, even if faces were averted. His team had been very uncomfortable with him coming here. Probably because of the unexpected location, but maybe there was more to it.

"The bad guys were very good at their job, you know."

They were all looking at him now.

"Quick, thorough," he couldn't help rubbing his reconstructed jaw at that moment, "using things that are handy and common. You were supposed to believe I was dead."

Carter shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Glad to hear you say that, sir…"

He eyed her suspiciously. Next stop was his house. For the first time since his untimely demise.

Carter turned onto Jack's street and drove slowly down. Very slowly.

Jack was getting impatient. Not knowing was worse than anything he could possibly find. The house hadn't been sold, that was a start. Guess no one wanted a house whose prior owner had been blown up in the backyard. And they had already told him – about a hundred thousand times or so – that they had not been there in quite a while. Too busy trying to catch the guys who blew people up in backyards. And the creepiness factor of bits-of-innocent-victim splattered all over had kept any potential helpers, even the paid kind, away. Even the lawn service couldn't get people to go there.

The team had thought they had more time – they couldn't have known he would insist on going home today – and kept asking for a chance to clean up first. No dice. He wanted to go home.

"Carter, would you jus—" The words died as his house came into view.

The intake of breath at his side confirmed that they certainly hadn't been here in a while.

The grass, his once-prize-winning emerald carpet, was well over knee high. It swayed in the breeze. The bushes were overgrown, their lower branches tangling in with the tops of the grass.

Ok. Fixable. A little yard-work and it would be good as new. The house itself looked ok. They parked the car and he walked slowly to his front door, studiously ignoring the tickle of grass tall enough to reach his fingertips. On the plus side, he consoled himself, they couldn't have had any time to do much to the inside, either.

But someone else had.

The inside of the house was trashed. Literally, with garbage on the floors, and figuratively with the graffiti on the walls and broken furniture. He stood there, stunned.

"I'll call the police, sir."

"And say what, Carter?" He read some of the graffiti. "Mike, Boz, and Jimbo lasted a whole night in my haunted house?" He turned slowly, noticing that others had written their names on his wall after surviving the night there. A note, in scrawled printing, proclaimed that the ashes in the fireplace were the 'kernal' himself and dared the reader to touch them and call the ghost back to his house.

"The place is dead. I'm dead, technically. Time for us both to come back to life."

"Where do we start, sir?"

"The yard. No one will come in if they think someone's here again."

The garage had survived largely unscathed, thanks to the fact that the big door wouldn't open and most items wouldn't fit out the person-door. Carter revved up the lawn mower and set to work, stopping every few yards to empty the bag. She said she needed the exercise, but he suspected that she wanted to work off a little tension. Or maybe she just wanted a good, loud reason not to have to talk for a while.

Teal'c set to work boarding up the broken windows in the back of the house, the apparent entry-point for local kids proving their courage by braving the ghost of the murdered colonel. Daniel started clearing a path for Carter's mower by trimming the bushes, freeing them from the reaching grasp of the lawn.

Jack began to inventory the house, trying not to show how much it hurt to see bits of his memories broken and scattered. There didn't seem to be a single thing left undamaged.

He couldn't do it for long; it was just too painful for now. He wandered out to the deck in back, which looked relatively like he'd left it, probably because it was visible to the neighbors. He sat down, propping his foot up, and tried to relax. Focus on the physical, he told himself. You're tired enough. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, finding the tension easing gradually. The sun warmed his face; it was good to be outside again.

"Paper-boy's here!" Daniel called out.

He jumped so hard that he fell off the side of the deck, landing on his knees and banging his sore foot. No! No, he couldn't be! He crouched defensively, wishing he had a weapon at hand.

It was just a kid. The one who delivered the newspaper in the neighborhood. No one else knew the nickname he had christened his tormentor with. He climbed to his feet and stood, speechless and shaking, as Daniel told the boy to start delivering to Jack's house again. He watched the paper boy pedal away on his bike, wishing the memories would leave so easily.

The Paper-boy was still out there somewhere.

Worse, so was whomever had been behind that damned camera. The person who had watched while he suffered. He hadn't told Hammond, or anyone, the other reason they hadn't killed him outright.

Entertainment value.

The Paper-boy's words echoed in his ears. "You've made some enemies, Puddin.' It wasn't enough just to get you out of the way; they want to see you suffer."

He watched the video one last time, savoring it. There it was! The look. Back toward the door, as he hears someone coming. Then he leaps on his so called best friend and slashes hysterically at him with a dirty scalpel.

His own door opened and he quickly hit the 'delete' key. Fun as it is, you don't keep evidence like that around. He'd just have to wait and hope for a chance to do it all over again. And win.

The Paper-boy fiddled with the phone cable atop the pole, spending more time watching the people three doors down than anything else. He'd had to euthanize a good man – well, good at his job, anyway, if not 'good' by standard measures of morality – because of them.

The professional side of him said to let it go, it was part of the job. Doing his share of trashing the guy's house, making certain that any personal-looking items were broken, defiled, or gone entirely, should be enough.

The rest of him was reluctant to give it up; it was personal now.


End file.
